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The Soul of Lady Agnes 

* 

BY 

MARIE VIRGINIA HARDING 


Price, JO Cents. 



THE 


SOUL OF LADY AGNES, 



MARIE VIRGINIA HARDING. 


** Miserere animi non digna ferentis,** 



COPTRiaHT, 1889 , BT 

G, IV. Dillingham, Publisher, 

Successor to G. W. Carleton & Co. 

MDCCCLXXXIX. 







V 








% 




t 


f 

\ 

f • 

» I 





TO MY MOTHER. 

WITH 

All a Daughter’s Love and Gratitude. 


Brooklyn, N. Y. 

—89. 


THE SOUL OF LADY AGNES. 


I. 

Across her closed eyes the sun falls hotly, 
across the bowed head, the slightly tipped 
bonnet, into the empty sockets of a poor lit- 
tle songster dangling there ; down it slides 
and dances over the woman’s silk dress, 
skips about lively and heats her through and 
through. Half under the awning, now in 
the sun s rays, now out, is a girl tipping on 
a wooden stool. 

She, too, seems sleepy. 

The mid-day heat grows oppressive. 
Back of them, in the shop with its door flung 
wide, is not a living creature. The counters 


6 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

shine like polished glass. Along the shelves 
of the walls are bottles ; underneath them 
glasses. The bottles bear their names upon 
their bodies ; ’tis, Absinthe Vermouth 
Vermont Absmthe, Plainly, in new gold 
letters on the shop windows, you see it 
from the street, is the same, 'written Absinthe 
Vermouty then the owner’s name, Jean Paul. 

A little diabhy in the shape of a small 
boy, mindful of the empty shop, creeps slily 
under the awning, and lies sprawled flat 
upon his stomach on the stones. He rolls 
about, kicks his feet up in the air, and out of 
the corners of his eyes, which glisten like the 
purest coals, keeps watch of the woman 
sleeping and the girl. Nothing disturbs the 
three. The boy still coolly lies and kicks 
his dirty, torn feet against the shadowed air. 
The river is close by, and A\\ the boats, like 
clock-work, move upon it. The wide, white 
streets, which diverge at this point, go down 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 7 

into the city, are desolate, so far as the eye 
can see. The handsome houses are shut up 
in stone nearly to their heads. It is the 
middle of October, yet, by a weather freak, 
the air is that of August, hot and blinding. 

The boy, with a somersault, stands on his 
feet. He is as fleet as the gale of a March 
day. Will he run ? 

Venez — icil^ 

Does she want to pound him for lying 
there ? Will he ? No ! She is laughing at 
him. He guesses he will gOi 

She speaks low, for the woman at her 
side is still sleeping. 

Oy Dieu, He never saw anything whiter 
than those teeth of hers. She might bite. 
He could, but his teeth are not as sharp as 
hers. He won’t go any nearer, no, he won’t. 
What is it ?” 

** Avez-vous faim 


8 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

He mutters a prayer to the virgin. She 
has caught hold of his arm. 

AveZ’Vous faim 

She shakes him until his teeth cnatter. , 

Ouiy oui” he gobbles forth. 

She lets go of him and with lips curved 
in silent laughter, with a gleam in her blue 
eyes which intoxicates the gaze of the little 
gamin, slides off the stool and kneeling, runs 
her hand in the pocket of the slumbering 
woman. She pulls out a pocket-book, opens 
it and drops into her lap a quantity of loose 
silver, — all it contains. Back in its place 
she puts the porte-monnaie, then stands up. 
No one is watching her; she is careful of 
that. 

Le matUy le mainy va-t'en, Va vite, 
Angels have wings they say, but what now 
have little devils, winged feet, eh ?” 

The girl gives the question aloud in 
slightly foreign English. She sits again by 


9 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

the table, she lifts two empty glasses and 
peers deep in them. She turns them upside 
down and shakes out a greenish yellow drop 
or two. 

I’d like to shiver you to bits,” she 
hisses, you little snake, white-necked 
things, just because you’ve held that poison- 
ous stuff. You’ll not hold any more, do you 
hear? Not to-day, not one drop more for 
her. She hasnt a single soul' 

She lays the glasses down and strikes 
them with her strong, slender fingers, and 
sighs and sighs. Her bared head is like the 
sight of a cataract, a rippling of flashing 
tints dashed by the sun. Her hair is cut 
short and here and there curls tightly. 
Like little snails lie in their shells, it clings 
to her warm, white neck. She idly, wea- 
rily looks about her, her restless nature 
writhing under the profound stillness of the 
place. 


lo The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

In the vestibule of the Hotel Meurice 
are a group of men. A few have taken off 
their hats and try to mop up the moisture 
dripping on their brows. Others, leaning 
against the stone wall, hit nonchalantly at 
their boots with their light canes, seemingly 
oblivious to weather and surroundings. 
Slowly looking carelessly about, a gentleman 
of medium size, with a countenance which 
would halt the gaze of any passer, leaves the 
dining-room and crosses to the vestibule 
door. He remains there and looks up and 
down the now sunny, now shady, but terrifi- 
cally hot. Rue de Rivoli. The street is 
thronged with carriages. The footmen 
holding umbrellas over the coachmen is no 
uncommon sight, while Madame et Mon- 
sieur recline in their voiture, each sheltered 
by a separate shade. On the sidewalk are 
crowds of people passing. Over in the gar- 
den of the Tuilleries you can see the young- 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 1 1 

sters playing, hear them laughing. The 
gentleman standing in the door-way places 
his hat on so that his eyes are shaded by the 
brim. Underneath the skin covering tightly 
his cheek bones, his teeth are seen to be 
locked and grating, for the lower bone 
moves in and out. A man equal to him in 
size, but his superior in strength, though by 
ten years the elder, joins him. Without a 
word they step into the street together. No 
one passes but turns and stares. Some stop 
to look after them. It is no common sight, 
this ! A gentleman with a skin the hue of a 
lemon 'walking by the side of a mulatto. A 
mulatto in complexion only, his features, his 
hair, are remarkably handsome, and his bear- 
ing manly. “Senhor, have you thought 
where you are going ?” 

The words are Portuguese, 

“It doesn’t matter. Anything to kill 


12 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

time. We’ll go back to London to-night. 
I am sick of this.” 

“ You said the same of London, Senhor ; 
that’s why we left there. You’ll say it over 
again the first hour we’re back.” 

‘‘ Cursed fool, but give the dying peace.” 
The servant has a gleam of pity shining 
in his full, heavy eyes. His manner is deep- 
ly deferential. 

'‘Courage, Senhor, courage. Monsieur 
le Docteur say’s you are better.” 

“ Better ! what an arrant liar you are, 
Juan. I suppose I can’t feel these hollowed 
cheeks ; see the color of my skin and eyes. 

I tell you, Juan, your Brazilian climate has 
sucked my life’s blood.” 

“Senhor, Brazil has made you a rich 
man.” 

He is pleading with him. 

“ But I have made it a richer country.” 
All his apathy is gone. His eyes scintillate. 


The Sold of Lady Agnes, 13 

“ Have enriched it a hundred fold. Think 
of what the railroads have done, are doing ? 
My railroads. Hear that, Juan ?” i 
Senhor is a wise man.” 

‘ Call not a man wise who has lost his 
health.” 

He turns on him irascibly. 

“ Where are you taking me ?” 

“ Nowhere, Senhor. You named no 
place.” 

“ Well then, where are we walking to ?” 
''To the Seine, Senhor. You can see it 
there between the trees.” 

They move on, silently, a little further. 
“Eh, Juan, it looks as if we brought the 
heat away with us ?” 

He again has his cigar between his teeth. 
" Sim, Senhor, one of the waiters swore 
last night behind my back that we had.” 

It amused his master, he laughed pleas- 
antly. 


14 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

“We attract notice, eh, Juan. Diaboy 
but rd be afraid to take yon to the United 
States.” 

“ Senhor has promised that I go when 
he does ; the Senhor’s word is truth,” 

Again their walk is in silence. They 
reach the corner, and are facing a cafd 
They linger. The Seine is simmering 
before them. 

The servant suddenly feels a wiry, nerv- 
ous hand clutch hold of his arm ; feels it 
strongly through the cloth of his coat-sleeve. 

'' Presto y Juan, look closely; what angel 
of a girl is that ? You have her face now 
full in view. What a head of hair ? DeuSy 
Juan, do you see her.” 

“ Senhor,” he speaks soothingly, “ why 
not cross and see who she is? There is a 
woman by her side asleep.” 

They do so, and seat themselves at a 
near table. 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 15 

The woman appeared to be waking up. 
She raised her head several times, but in 
vain ; at each attempt her half-opened eyes 
would shut, and she was dreaming again. 

Juan uneasily eyes his master, who is act- 
ing strangel}^ With a sudden, rapid move- 
ment he has left his chair and is standing by 
the girl at the other table, looking earnestly 
into the unconscious woman’s pale face. 

“ Monsieur /” 

A commanding voice makes him look up. 
The girl, her face quivering with anger, 
fright, is glaring at him. 

He unhesitatingly speaks to her in Eng- 
lish. 

This lady’s name is Madame Chevan- 
nis, — Amelie Chevannis, — and you are Scita. 
Darling, when did your father die ?” 

She is not pleasant to look at as she 
answers : 


“We want no spies ” 


1 6 The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

Astounded, he is silent for an instant. 

“ Scita, have you never heard your 
father speak of his old friend Leighton Bar- 
rymore of Buenos Ayres — ” 

- Oh !” 

She tosses her clinging curls away from 
her face. 

“ Oh r 

She has her slender arms around his 
neck, has laid her firm, round cheek against 
his sunken ones. 

'' I knew you would find us sometime ; I 
knew it, I knew it.” 

She gives the queerest little inflexion on 
each word. 

“ Papa’s old friend. But why — why — ” 
she has taken her hands away, why didn’t 
you come before ?” - 

‘ Come before, child ! I heard of your 
father’s death and that you had left Paris, I 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 1 7 

was a desperately sick man myself at that 
time ; was it a mistake, then T 

A mistake.” 

She says it thoughtfully. 

Suddenly over her features a strange 
expression flits.” 

How did you know ? Who told you 
we had left Paris ?” 

How !” 

He tries to evade these wonderful blue 
eyes of hers and fails. He shows the pee- 
vishness of a sick man. 

'' Tut, child, your mother wrote me, and 
forgot to give her new address. I was wait- 
ing to feel stronger before hunting you up. 
I was off for London to-night ; coming back 
here later.” 

'' Forgot ! Why, she did it on purpose, 
Mr. Barrymore.” 

Don’t speak like that Scita ; don’t say 
that,” he utters sternly. 


1 8 The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

I will! I tell you I will! I have sat 
here day after day at this very table, in this 
very spot, with Maman like that. She’s my 
Maman just one hour in the day ; after that 
she’s as you see her. She will wake in a 
few minutes now, clutch me by the hand, and 
we’ll go home together ; and she hurts, she 
bears so heavily on me.” 

Juan, who has been standing to one side 
of his master, puts a world of pity in the sin- 
gle word : 

‘‘ Senhorita 1” 

She smiles at him through her tears. 
From this moment the Portuguese worships 
her. 

Mr. Barrymore looks exhausted. He 
touches Scita’s mother. 

Come, wake up I” he says. 

They are some seconds rousing her, but 
at last have left the cafe, and are walking 
under the leafless trees to a busier part of 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 19 

the city. Scita, by the side of Juan, is 
bewildering him with her rapid French gay 
little laughs, and sudden gleams of white 
from between the redness of her pretty 
mouth. She gestures and her eyes beam 
and dance. 

Not a care now sits upon her, she has 
the cooing of a dove, although it may, ten 
minutes later, change her into a fierce, pas- 
sionate little brute. 

In a new street, a fashionable part of 
Paris, on the Rue Bassano, Madame Chevan- 
nis lives. The four take the ascenseur and 
alight at the fifth floor. Scita, drawing a 
key from the bosom of her dress, opens the 
door, shows them in. 

Mr. Barrymore hastily reaches for his 
handkerchief ; his eyes have grown misty ; 
strange, but he has forgotten it. 

A small lace thing is pressed against the 
palm of his hand. 


20 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

** Take it,” whispers Scita. 

Madame Chevannis has fallen into a 
chair in the salon ; there are only two more 
in the room. One, a common kitchen stool ; 
the other, a fragile bit of white and gold 
tinted wood, cushioned in blue satin. The 
latter, Mr. Barrymore has taken ; the other, 
Scita, curling her dusty feet under her. 
Juan erect, his hands clasped over his hat, 
stands inside the doorway. Madame Che- 
vannis removes her bonnet with the dangling 
little songster upon it, languidly pulls off her 
gloves. Her hands are white and faultlessly 
moulded, her fingers ringless. Ghastly 
looking, with dark circles underneath her 
eyes, she sits thinking. She is understand- 
ing it all now, that man speechless opposite 
her, is going to beat her. Not at all ; she 
knows his little game, she will beat him. 
Then a feeling of fear creeps slowly through 
her, and she is weakly crying : 


The Soul of Lady Agnes* 21 

'' Leighton, speak ! don’t sit there like a 
dead man and glare at me — Dieu / Dieu /” 

'' Stop your French ; I understand your 
English.” 

There is a brutality, a tone in that voice 
which reveals clearly the deadliest part of a 
nature slow to rouse has been awakened. 

Amalie Chevannis dries her tears. 

Scita, dearest, go in the kitchen and get 
your supper. You must be starved.” 

'' I am. You know you ate the last there 
was in the house last night. They took the 
table away this morning. They are to come 
for these chairs to-night.” 

Scita folds her hands composedly in her 
lap. Her hair tumbling about her hides her 
face from view, but through its glisten her 
blue eyes shine and dance. 

Leighton, my dear husband’s friend, you 
never thought to see us poverty-stricken. 
Only a year ago, when you were with us, we 


22 The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

had walls hung with tapestries, our floors 
strewn with rugs, while now there is nothing 
but bare wood about” 

She cries with every word. 

Scita softly is swaying to and fro, her 
knees caught up in her hands. 

Hush Amelie Chevannis ! Look at me. 
Yes, that’s it, a trifle longer. Now say it 
again. You are poverty-stricken,” 

Je sms — ” 

English /” 

She writhes in her chair. 

Don’t, don’t kill me, Leighton-^ 

Say it” 

His voice is less harsh. 

“ I am poverty-stricken.” 

Gerard ! Gerard ! and this is your 
Amelie, so low, so low. O God, have pity !” 

H is face is buried in his hands. He 
groans into them. 


\ 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 23 

Scita has stopped rocking and is like a 
statue. 

Juan has closed his eyes. He prays or 
curses, it sounds like both. When Mr. Bar- 
ramore looks up, he finds Madam Chevannis 
gone. 

She is there, in her room.” 

With her forefinger Scita points to the 
closed door. 

My child, what have you not suffered ; 
tell me all. How long has your mother 
been like this T 

'' Since one year. She took to it a 
month after the funeral.” 

But your friends, don’t they know, 
didn’t they do anything for her — for you.” 

Yes, they knew, and they knew how to 
stop calling on us. We receive cards even 
now.” 

She claps her hands over her mouth to 
check her rising laughter. She darts to a 


24 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

big wooden box in one corner of the perfect- 
ly barren room, drags it up to Mr. Barry- 
more, and throwing back the cover, dives her 
long, restless fingers in a mass of sharp- 
edged, square-cut cardboard. Amazedly he 
takes several from the handful she holds up 
to him and turns to the window. 

Scita, meanwhile, is reading rapidly. 

' Le Marquis S , Madame L , 

Countess G , Mademoiselle C , Miss 

Louise , Duke de B T 

She has tossed them all back in the box, 
is slamming down the lid. With a light 
spring she now jumps up on it, and falls to 
stamping viciously. 

Mr. Barrymore holds out his hand. 

** How old are you, Scita?” 

She is again on her stool. 

How old ? Sixteen.” 

She answers with a supremely haughty 


air. 


25 


The Sotil of Lady Agnes, 

He is too grave to smile. 

“You look fourteen,” he says sur- 
prisedly. “ Doesn’t she, Juan ?” 

“ Sim, Senhor.” 

Mr. Barr}^more rises. 

“ Remember, please, how hungry I am.” 

H is brows grow together again. 

“ I am going now to send you your din- 
ner. Juan will remain with you. Have you 
a spare mattress anywhere ?” 

She shook her head. 

“ Oh, yes, there is one piled up in a 
closet, only one.” 

“ Get it down, Juan, and put it in here.” 

He speaks to him for several minutes 
now in Portuguese. 

“Sim, Senhor.” 

Scita cannot understand them. 

“ I will be back to-morrow morning 
before your mother tries to go out,” he says 
to her. “ Child, do you believe that you 


26 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

are,” he hesitates — choosing his word — 
poor ?” 

I gave our last sous away to day ; our 
beds would have to be pawned to get 
more.” 

His yellow skin grows deeply wrinkled. 
He groans aloud — ‘‘ Starving, living in deso- 
late rooms — talking of pawning — Gerard 
Chevannis daughter, — Gerard Chevannis 
wife an absinthe drinker !” 

Scita hears him, and the veins on her 
temples throb visibly, violently. 

Your mother seems to have lost her 
reason, for she is a rich woman, and you 
child, an heiress, do you understand me 
clearly ; an heiress equal to any in this 
French capitol.” 

A crimson flush spreads over her face 
and brow. She for the second time that day 
clasps her hands around his neck* 


The Sotil of Lady Agnes, 27 

‘‘If this is so, then take me away with 
you, take me to your home.” 

“To Buenos Ayres?” he asks amazedly. 

“ The climate is — ” 

But she checks him. 

“ Buenos Ayres is just the place. No, 
promise now you will take me,” and she will 
not release him until he acquiesces. 


28 


The SotU of Lady Agnes» 


IL 

Mr. Barrymore stops at a restaurant 
and waits until he sees the preparations be- 
gun for the dinner which he has ordered to 
be taken to the fifth etage of 22 Rue Bas- 
sano. 

Satisfied, he now turns his steps in the 
direction of his hotel. It is the hour for 
table dUidte, but beckoning to the head 
waiter he speaks to him confidentially : 

See here, I want you to do me a favor. 
Serve me well and you won’t lose by it.” 

Suiting the action to the word Barrymore 
draws a roll of bills forth and hands him 
one. 

‘‘ Merct, Monsieur y merczT 

The waiter, with his trim mutton chop 
whiskers, goes nearer, and his eyelids quiver 
with suppressed emotion as he listens. 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 29 

“ I want you to see that as fine a little 
meal as your chef serve is in waiting for 
a friend and myself in my salon in half-an- 
hour/' 

Bien, Bien le second 6 tage Monsieur ^ 
liest ce pas f 

‘‘ Exactly.’’ 

C'est bien. 

With the air of a man wrapped up in his 
thoughts Barrymore goes out to the main 
office. 

“ Have you anything for me ?” 

The clerk with a nod of acquiescence 
hands him an envelope, which is lying on the 
desk. Seeking his room he hurriedly breaks 
the covering and reads, written on the en- 
closed card, above the engraved name, “ tout 
de suite,'' Laying down his hat, Mr. Barry- 
more stretches himself out in an easy chair, 
his eyes closed and his breathing labored and 
irregular, while his active brain works with 


30 TJlc Soul of Lady Agnes, 

alarming rapidity. So certain had he been 
of his friend’s answer that, after despatching 
a message to him on leaving the Rue Bas- 
sano, he lost no time in hurrying to the 
hotel and ordering dinner. In precisely a 
half hour’s time he opens his door to a waiter, 
standing spotlessly attired, and who 
announces : “ Monsieui' on a se^^viS 

At this moment his guest arrives. They 
shake hands and at once sit down to dine. 

“ Leighton,” says his friend, “ have you 
your wife with you ?” 

The soup is placed on the table and they 
bedn eat i nor. 

o o 

“ No, de Brouville, she preferred keeping 
quiet.” 

The conversation is carried on in Eng- 
lish ; de Brouville speaking it with a slight 
accent. He is a gentleman with pure white 
hair and goatee, distinguished and elegant. 

“ I read your name in Le Figaro this 


j The Soul of Lady Agnes. 31 

morning, and wondered if you would evade 
me. Don’t you know, Leighton, I can 
understand how broken a man must feel 
who has been as ill as you have.” 

“ Thanks, your sympathy is good. Had 
you thought to call ?” 

The I ren jhman’s quick sense perceiv^es a 
tint of sarcasm in the words. Impetuously 
he extends his arm and lays a long, carefully 
attended finger on his friend’s passive hand. 

You doubt me ?” 

“I do. Why not? You were seem- 
ingly as firm a friend of Gerard Chevannis 
as myself, seemingly. Yes, what have you 
done ? What trouble have you taken to see 
that his wife and child were living as they 
should. You sent them three cards. D — n. 
You, who were as a brother to Gerard 
Chevannis, whom he loved as only a man of 
his nature could love, and who died feeling 
so long as you were alive his family would 


32 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

be cared for. You sent them three cards. 
You, H— ir 

De Brouville, with contorted features, 
leaps from his chair. His hands and arms 
quiver, his lips are contorted and streaked. 
His passion is so strong that it gurgles in 
his parched throat ; his mouth falls apart 
with wordless speech. Barrymore is at a 
white heat, but leans forward in his chair 
without a sign of the tempest raging 
through him. The waiter noiselessly 
changes the dishes, places the fruit on the 
table and withdraws. Outside the door, his 
eyes great with curious terror, he stands, 
hearkening until some one entering the hall 
starts him on. 

De Brouville runs his white tongue along 
his lips, draws himself up to his fullest 
height : 

You, above all others, know the danger 
of addressing me as you have. Were you 


33 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

other than a gentleman, I would shoot you 
now. It is to-morrow at eleven. Pistols 
are the weapons.” 

Horace, we won’t fight. I believe you, 
you didn’t know. That drunken fiend of a 
woman wouldn’t let you.” 

De Brouville, standing over him, grated 
his locked teeth. From his pocket he draws 
forth a small jewelled pistol and lays it by 
his untouched plate of grapes on the table. 

Continuezl' he says. 

Barrymore catches his wine glass firmly. 
His jaw bones work nervously in and out. 
His light blue eyes show his utter uncon- 
sciousness of the movement of his friend, 
show he is absorbed by some keen pain 
gnawing him within. 

Horace,” and the name comes broken- 
ly, “ we loved Chevannis, didn’t we, poor 
Chevannis. It was hard his early death. 
That last time we were at his home together. 


34 Soul of Lady Agnes. 

you remember how beautiful AmMie looked, 
that night how charming was his little girl. 
How Gerard adored them both. You and I 
talked of it going home. Now,” into his 
cold hands he sinks his head, to-day, this 
very afternoon, I saw a sight which will last 
me to eternity. There was a woman, her 
soul drunk with absinthe, lying half sprawled 
across a table, a bonnet crushed and ragged 
falling from her head ; the sun gushing full 
down upon her, in red-hot, sickening, rays. 
In the shade, by this woman’s side, was a 
young girl singing to herself, wonderful in 
her beaut}^ A half-hour before and that 
cafe had been swarming with men, cursing 
men, those tables holding the eternal fire. 
This woman is Amelie Chevannis, and the 
girl, Gerard’s adored baby Scita.” 

“ Leighton, man, you stagger me 1 
What’s that you say of AmHie drinking ? of 
a cafe ? of a child ? 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 35 

De Brouville lessens his fierce hold of the 
other’s throat. 

I say this. You and I have not done 
our duty and we will have to answer for it, 
friend, at the judgment day. After the fun- 
eral Amelie took to drinking and is now a 
veritable city hag. No earthly power can 
save her, the drug has its insiduous grasp 
upon her.” 

“ Parbleu, Leighton, Amelie an absinthe 
drinker, Am^ie,” and while the tears float in 
his eyes he laughs. 

“ Why, man, listen. After Gerard’s 
death, I saw his widow for more than a 
week. She then left the city for their place 
at La Fitte — making me promise not to dis- 
turb her, saying she wished to be entirely 
alone. What less could I do but keep my 
word. It has been twelve months now and 
they are still away. I write her once a 
week, but she has never sent me a line.” 


36 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

Shrugging his shoulders he looks abrupt- 
ly, earnestly, in the face of his friend. 
There are half crescent deep furrowed lines 
beneath his eyes. His white moustache is 
carefully waxed at the ends. He is in even- 
ing dress, for there is a ball given at the 
President’s this night, beginning at eleven, 
which he must attend. 

“ AmHie was always clever ; with absin- 
the in her veins she is hellish clever. Do 
you know what she did ? She never left the 
city, but took an apartment in the Rue Bas- 
sano under another name. Each morning, 
disguised in common clothes, she went out 
with her daughter. They were generally in 
the latin quarter, Scita tells me, and there 
received her absinthe. She was home 
usually by eight.” 

“ Impossible ! Scita is old enough to 
have looked up some friend, and — ” 

“What daughter would tell a stranger of 


The Soul of Lady Agues. 37 

her mother’s fall. What could she think 
but they had been deserted by their friends. 
She had nothing but their paper condolences 
after that first week to remind her of them.’* 

He raps the table fiercely. 

“It shows, Horace, that every hour 
things are passing by our very noses which 
we cannot smell though we think we taste. 
There is some excuse for me, sick in Brazil, 
but for you, one of France’s truest, bravest 
lawyers, to be duped by a woman — Bon 
Dieu /” 

De Brouville does not raise his head, he 
runs his shining eyes along the figured car- 
pet. 

“ But I knew you had been, knew it, that 
is why I asked you to dine with me to-night. 
Had I doubted you for one brief second, 
felt your letters to me of them had been 
lies, that you knew of AmHie’s passion, 
had — ” knocking his chair from under him, 


38 The Sold of Lady Agnes. 

he rises — “ I would have sought you out in 
the chamber, in the street, and shot you 
down'' 

De Brouville lifts his head and speaks 
with quiet emphasis. 

“Had I known what you did, nothing 
could have prevented my killing you. 
Barrymore, by your being an American, 
not a Frenchman, there has been one less 
murder in the world. Your hand, friend. 
All that lies in my power from this hour 
on, will I do for Gerard’s wife and child. 
What are your plans ?” 

“ As guardian and one of the co-execu- 
tors I have the right to take Scita with me. 
She has in fact made me promise I would 
take her to Buenos Ayres.” 

“ But the climate may be too severe.” 

“In that case I will send her to my niece 
in America.” 


But Amelie ?’ 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 39 

‘‘ She could not be dragged from here. 
She is her own mistress, but, Horace, you 
can see that she sinks — no lower.” 

De Brouville, bending his white head to 
the other’s brown one, kisses him gravely on 
the cheek. Without speaking they wring 
each other’s hands and part. De Brouville 
goes not to the ball that night, but home. 


40 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 


III. 

Near the Plaza ii de Setiembre, in the 
city of Buenos Ayres, stands a handsome, 
anciently carved house of stone, freshly 
whitewashed. Not a blemish is on it, 
except the shadows which some tall palm 
trees shake about its sides. It is in the 
month of February, at an hour when the 
day’s heat is most oppressive, when the 
inhabitants of the city religiously seek their 
siesta. It is half-past eleven. Through the 
gateway of this mansion, in the main quad- 
rangle, a fountain gurgles blithely. 

On all sides are windows opened wide, 
and there are many rooms, seemingly empty, 
opening on this court. 

Leading from the quadrangle is another 
with several bubbling fountains in its cor- 
ners, while a great mass of blooming flowers, 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 41 

planted in long boxes, lie about. A slight 
breeze caressing them, sends forth their 
sweetness on its breath. Under the swing- 
ing boughs of wind touched shrubbery, its 
long throat hidden in rustling leaves, is a 
siremma, kneeling. This tamed bird, a sort 
of small ostrich, was captured in the high- 
land deserts by Barrymore himself. 

“Juan, tell it to her over again.” 

The mulatto, still bending above a basket 
of flowers he is carefully arranging, lifts his 
head. He fixes his eyes sternly on a little 
creature, dark-colored as himself, whom Scita 
presses tightly against the wall, and dis- 
tinctly, slowly speaks to her some moments 
in their native tongue. The child writhes 
to get free. Her face is of a dark crimson, 
and now and then, raising one corner of her 
shapely lips, she shows her tiny, locked 
teeth. 

“ You little vilaine, you sha n’t go until I 


42 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

let you. Now tell her, Juan, * He* knew 
liars by their odor a league off, and when 
Coralie approached the palace, he was 
obliged to burn vinegar to keep himself from 
being ill.’ ” 

She waits until Juan says it in his gibber- 
ish : “ Now Coralie’s mother was so ashamed, 
she tried to apologize for her daughter, but 
the enchanter. Merlin, who lived in a glass 
palace, said : ' I felt your daughter’s 

approach long ago. She is one of the great- 
est liars in the world, and she has made me 
very uncomfortable.’ ” 

The child’s eyes grow big with terror. 
She is becoming fascinated with this tale 
Juan is telling, if only the beautiful Senhorita 
wouldn’t look at her so, wouldn’t crush her 
on the wall. She again writhes to get free, 
then stands gasping softly, hearkening. 

With this, Merlin had clasped about her 


Jean Mac6. Contes du petit-chateau. 


43 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

neck a magnificent amethyst necklace, set 
with a diamond clasp of dazzling lustre. In 
a year,” said he, “ I will come for my neck- 
lace. If you dare take it off one single 
instant, until then, woe be unto you.” 

Here Scita gently shakes her. As steel 
tempered, she twists at a touch. 

This necklace was no other than that 
famous Necklace, of Truth, which the 
ancients talked of and which unveiled every 
species of falsehood. Before the year was 
over Merlin came for his necklace. She was 
then such a truthful child that she did not 
need it. This is what the necklace did, the 
beautiful stones turned dull when Coralie 
did not tell the truth ; it grew long when she 
added to it ; it shrank when she substracted 
from it, and clattered whenever she was 
silent. And now, Juan, tell her I have a 
necklace like this one.” 

Juan does. But before Scita can put a 


44 The Soul of Lady Agues, 

chain around the child’s brown neck she has 
with a fearful howl of anguish broken loose 
and fled into the street. 

So sudden has this been, that Scita is 
standing holding the chain still in her hand, 
when Mr. Barrymore appears. 

“ I heard a cry !” 

Scita, laughing, catches his arm in hers. 

“ It was only Dona frightened at a fairy 
story. We were giving her a little lesson, 
eh, Juan ?” 

But the mulatto is busying himself again 
over the flowers. 

As Mr. Barrymore turns away he catches 
sight of a picture which interests him. It is 
visible, standing out vividly at the end of 
an opposite court. 

“ See there Scita !*' 

It is the child Dona they are watching, 
A man of scarce twenty-two is holding her 
to his breast, caressing her flying hair. The 


The Sold of Lady Agnes. 45 

girl’s face is in full sight, but only her lover’s 
back is towards them. 

'‘She is young for this sort of thing. 
My wife must know of it.” 

Mr. Barrymore is irritated. 

She is telling him of her fright. See 
how wildly she gesticulates. How devilish 
the little thing looks. He is getting angry, 
too, now ; I can tell it by the way he raises 
his back. How she is making him hate me ! 
No, wait one moment. Do ! I must see his 
face, for he will be our enemy.” 

“ Tut, Scita, come in, what are they to 
you. My wife shall question the little 
witch. She is an orphaned charge of hers, 
whose only fault is lying.” 

Which she will scarce continue, of that 
I am certain.” 

" You have been taking her in hand, 
then. You would have done better to have 
left her alone.” 


46 The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

Scita is indignant at his sharp tone, and 
haughtily steps before him into the sitting- 
room. A lady calls from her sofa couch. 

“ Leighton/* 

- Yes.” 

‘‘Is that you ?”, 

“ Oh, no, his voice belongs to another, 
but I am here.” 

“Well, Scita, where have you been ?” 

“ In the court.’* 

“It seems to me you spend your time 
most profitlessly, Leighton, you Leigh- 
ton — ** 

Her husband does not pretend to answer, 
but his pleasant face is extremely disagree- 
able-looking. 

Scita, foreseeing a storm, raises her eye- 
brows and moves back. There is a window 
close by. Noiselessly she steps through it 
into the quadrangle. Juan is passing at 
this moment. Clasping her hands, she 


47 


The Sottl of Lady Agnes, 

claps the palms softly together. Hearing 
the call, Juan looks up; she beckons him to 
follow her. Away from the window, she 
speaks. 

“ Have you a message for me ?” 

“ Sim, Senhorita. Senhor will meet you 
here to night, at nine.” 

** Are the streets quiet T 
They begin to be noisy again, but it 
will not last.” 

“ Oh, it was such fun this morning ; the 
pomos doing any amount of work. The 
excitement was great when the Carzo 
arrived. Ah, Juan, but it reminds me of my 
beloved Paris. When the Company of the 
Epoch passed with the little Holquins fol- 
lowing, I could hardly contain myself, and 
then I know I heard a bit of French spoken. 
Who was the jeune ho7nme who knocked 
aside the pomos which would have fallen on 
me, tell me again ? He was splendid look- 


48 The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

ing; who was he, Juan? He had mottoes 
pinned down and across his coat. So you 
see he was a ladies favorite.” 

“ Sim, Senhorita, he was one Senhor 
Manuel, a half Spaniard, half Portuguese. 
His family stands high here in the city.” 

“ I liked him, Juan, and do -you think 
there is any chance of our meeting to- 
night ?” 

“ Sim, Senhorita, the chance is good. 
Th is Manuel is fond of strolling.” 

The color steals from her neck up in her 
face, and burns on her fair temples, her 
words falter, and she holds up her hand, 
instinctively, to show there must be quiet. 

She begins boldly, but before the short 
sentence is completed, the words die in her 
dry throat. 

My note, Juan, you took — ?” 

“ Sim, Senhorita. I gave it him myself.” 

You are good, good.” 


49 


The So id of Lady A ones. 

She is gone. 

For one week during the month of Feb- 
ruary there is held a carnival in Buenos 
Ayres, beginning with one Sunday and end- 
ing with the next. 

Each day the fun is kept going. On the 
Wednesday ashes are used to smear the 
attractive ones with, while many and varied 
are the modes of expression. The week of 
Carnival is over. This Sunday morning it 
had waxed gayer and longer than at any 
time to die completely before the evening. 

Scita, dressed darkly, stands by the por- 
tico. Waiting there in the darkness her 
heart jumps violently as she hears Mr€. 
Barrymore’s voice, her nasal twang falling 
cuttingly on her finely strung nerves. Un- 
consciously she beats her gloved hands 
together, frowns heavily and probs her lips 
up. 

'' Oh !” It is Scita’s favorite exclamation. 


3 


50 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

“ Isn’t she the worse ?” 

“ It is not as I care, Leighton Barrymore, 
it is just as you say.” 

‘‘ I will be home by eleven.” 

“ Mon Dieu, but they are drole.” 

Mr. Barrymore is with her now, and they 
are in the streets. 

The air is warm. The moon is up, and 
the stars are twinkling. The city being a 
sure level, there are in all directions vistas, 
with the steeples of the Spanish churches 
here and there. The streets are narrow, and 
on the sidewalk people pass in Indian file, 
unable to walk abreast. The scene is darkly 
strange and picturesque ; street cars, now half 
empty, now with every seat taken, go by. 

The theatre is open to-night. Hand- 
some equipages roll on, and fashion is 
glympsed at. The farther on they go the 
city has more an air of solemn whiteness of 
mysteries at its street corners, and Scita 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 51 

noticing this gives a little shiver of delight. 
They walk leisurely and cross by the Cathe- 
dral, a number of figures are crouched on its 
steps ; one Lazurus, holds out his hand and 
Scita drops in it a coin. He thanks her, 
and calls after them, ''boa noitel' 

They have gone a long distance, and 
Scita is growing weary. Mr. Barrymores 
silence irritates her. She is angry at herself. 

This is no adventure after all. Had she 
not told Senhor Manuel the way they would 
take, the hour of starting, and why, pray, 
had he not appeared before this ? Her note 
could not have touched him, what a fool she 
had been. Fate alone should have led him 
to her. Yes, she will hate him, if he don’t 
come soon. She will — ” 

‘‘ What is it, Scita. You are scowling at 
a great rate. Has your stroll not satisfied 
you ? Come, time we went back. Restless- 


52 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

ness is your curse, child ; overcome it, or you 
will be submerged.” 

Nature, pure nature is the French girl’s 
life guide. 

She is naturally too quick-witted and 
clever to try and improve that which brought 
her child’s desires, now she is coming to 
w^oman’s estate. Impulse is rarely met by a 
blow. 

Mr. Barrymore’s words, the tone he used 
were, as a flash of lightning before a storm — ■ 
a lowering suggestion. 

Scita has drawn close to him, raises her 
emotional face full of love to his. “ You 
dear, dear ami. How good you are to me, 
you — ” 

But a shivering of a moonlit knife, a 
short, black figure, a thrust and Leighton 
Barrymore, dragging with him the clinging 
girl, falls to the pavement as one dead. 

Scita opens her eyes. There is some- 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 53 

thing thickening around her hand. She lifts 
it and great drops of warm, red blood drip 
on her. She utters one loud, long, piercing 
scream, thoughts and speech mix together. 
She faints again. Two policemen are on 
the scene. They know the wounded man at 
a glance. He is the American-Brazilian 
railroad magnate, one of the millionaires of 
Buenos Ayres. It is near twelve when a car- 
riage stops before a large silent house and a 
gentleman is carried in. From the recess of 
a near stone wall a young man has run for* 
w’ard. With a horrified face he hears what 
the policeman tells him. Striding then to 
the carriage, throwing open the door, he 
clasps in his arms a stricken little form. 
Unconscious as she is, he seems in no great 
hurry to take her in the house, but kisses 
her and kisses her, as if he thought this 
alone could wake her. 

“ Minha querida. I did not comprc- 


54 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

hend. I thought I was to wait here — 
Minha querida T But Manuel is two hours 
late and she fails to hear him now. 

Within the house he gives her up to the 
care of Juan, who in his great agitation 
curses aloud. Scita is well again the next 
morning, but Mr. Barrymore suffers keenly. 
The thrust he has received having been 
directed to his heart, but slipping, left it 
intact. The blow is seen to have been dealt 
with a curved knife, that commonly used by 
the natives, an inheritance from their Moor- 
ish ancestors. 

Its purpose is to kill, and Mr. Barrymore 
has little doubt but that it was given by 
some man discharged from his employ. 
The police are notified to do their best in 
capturing the would-be murderer. 

It is the evening of the morrow. 

You held me in your arms, last night?” 
she whispers to him. 


... I'he Soul of Lady Agnes, 55 

He is bending low over her, so low that 
his dark moustache twirls in her light hair. 

Mon Manuel^' she speaks in French. 
He answers her in his melodious English. 

Sweet little Scita, I could have 
devoured you then, but you were cold, 
cold.” 

The tremor passing over him shows 
itself on his under lip. She puts her finger 
up and touches it. 

“Tell me, Manuel, how long have you 
loved me T 

He holds both her hands gently, firmly, 
but he is an honest youth and does not hes- 
itate. 

“ Since last night. It was the first time 
I had seen you closely. In that crowd of 
hooting people your face shone like the 
image I bear here of the Virgin,” and he 
presses his heart. 

“And yet I loved you, Manuel, and I 


56 The Soul of Lady Agnes: 

only saw you just one second in that 
crowd.” 

“Yes, niinha qiierida^ but a man is blinder 
than a woman. You are all eyes, we are 
eyelets.” 

“ So, Manuel,” she laughs right gaily. 
“Oh, Aunt Mil, come here. My Manuel is 
funny.” 

Mrs. Barrymore is in the far end of the 
dimly-lighted room, sipping through the silver 
tube of the mate cup her Paraguay tea. 
With each taste she tries to digest this sud- 
den love of Scita’s ; its fulfilment. 

The youth, Manuel Vasco, is highly con- 
nected. She knows his parents well. His 
family name Is a brave one, closely con- 
nected with that disastrous war which ended 
in the defeat and death of the dictator 
Lopez, March i, 1871. 

“ Scita, you jolly little Scita,” and he 
holds her closely. 


57 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

Mrs. Barrymore watching, is half stran- 
gled with unsuspected, long chocked 
emotions fighting to the surface. She lays 
aside her cup, and hastens to the bedside of 
her suffering husband — is strangely tender, 
loving to him. 

“ Do you know,” says Scita, pushing him 
from her, and shaking the tight curls out 
from her head, while in the room the moon- 
light glides and waves about her. “ He is 
dark as she is fair. He stands five feet six 
in his stockings, while she is supple and 
somewhat under medium height.” 

O que /” 

‘‘ That I have money.” 

''Have you ? So have I, Sweetheart.” 

" That I have a mother.” 

" Why, yes, so have I,” and this grave 
youth does not smile. 

How can he ? She is turning as white 
as that strip of moonlight there. Is tearing 

3 * 


58 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

her hands from his and working them con- 
vulsively. 

“ She is an Absinthe drinker /” 

He barely catches those last words. 

A what ?” 

He fears she is going to run from him 
and catches her with his long right arm 
about the neck. 

“A drinker, one who drinks absinthe.” 
‘'Oh, but Scita, you are not !” 

“ I ? Oh. no !” 

“ Then let me kiss you, Scita, Scita.” 

But she turns her head away. 

“ Manuel, do you mean you do not care. 
It won’t make any difference.” 

Her sweet voice is tremulous. It sets 
his Spanish blood on fire. 

“ Do you want me to swear to it ?” The 
words come through clenched teeth. 

“Yes. Not in Spanish, not in French, 
in Engdsh, Say it after me. God bear 


The Sotil of Lady Agnes. 59 

witness, it does not matter if Scita’s mother’s 
an absinthe drinker. I love her just the 
same — no — more'' 

“ God bear witness, it does not matter if 
Scita’s mother’s an absinthe drinker. I love 
her just the same — no — 7 nore." 

She does not wait for him to kiss her, 
but kisses him. When Manuel tears himself 
away and seeks his home by the corner, he 
is intoxicated — at last this feated youth 
loves. 

Dark, fiery little Mulah, thy lover of yes- 
terday, is lost to thee forever. Freshly braid 
thy hair and saunter out anew. Let no one 
see that thy eyes have been red — that thou 
hast had cause for weeping. It would never 
do. 


6o 


TJie Soul of Lady Agnes. 


IV. 

It is Madison Avenue in New York City 
at an hour when the shades of night are lift- 
ing. A light, untrampled snow lies placid 
on the streets, the sidewalks slowly freezing. 
The stars are sleepily one by one turning in 
their beds, their coverlets of present gray, a 
future blue, creep slowly up soon to lie snug 
upon them. The great room has all the 
mysteries of shifting shadows gamboling in 
it. In the open fire-place there is still a 
good blaze leaping. The long, thickly wad- 
ded silken curtains droop before the win- 
dows. The sound of something overturned, 
the striking of a match, its reckless sputter, 
an exclamation, a hand, a wrist comes forth ; 
the lighting of a candle, and there is 
revealed, the curtains pulled aside, a bed 
with rods of golden hue, a stretch of spot- 


The Soul of Lady Agues. 6i 

less white, a face, the lips half parted, a dark 
mist of scattered hair, a slender neck bent 
forward, a white pulsing throat laid bare. 

A careful step comes now. The bed cur- 
tains rattle, the hand clutching them is trem- 
bling so. 

“Why, how did you know, Ursula, 
Ursula.’* 

“Yes ! Lady Agnes, yes.” 

One voice makes the other hoarse with 
terror. 

The woman in her long wrapper stoops 
over the bed. 

“ What is it my Lady — tell me ?’ 

“I am freezing, Ursula. Make the 
room light ; make it warm, and then I’ll tell 
you. What time of night is this ?” 

“It nears morning.” 

She is laying on the blaze a huge log, 
which turns the red stream black for one 
brief instant, when, with a mighty roar, it 


62 The Soul of Lady Agues, 

springs into color again. She lights the 
seven burners in the room. 

Now, my Lady, will this do?” 

Not quite.” There is a decanter of 
wine on yonder stand, and even as she 
speaks, this woman moves to it, then bends 
over the white face upturned to hers and 
entreats : 

“My Lady, take this. Your hands are 
clammy as death.” 

“ No, Ursula, I am going there to the 
blaze.” 

“ Not before you drink this. Drink it.” 

And not thinking, not caring then what 
she does. Lady Agnes drinks. 

She stands by the fire. Her night-dress 
twines about her, blows fitfully around her 
naked feet, revealing how slender is her 
form, its graceful, commanding lines. 

“My Lady, wrap this rug about you. 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 63 

Sit here in this chair if you will not go to 
bed. You will be ill to-morrow.” 

“ Ursula, this has been a fearful night.” 

Her low voice is full of deep intensity. 

The woman who had taken her a babe 
and nursed at her breast, impulsively darts 
forward, stoops over her. 

“ My Lady, quickly tell it to me. You 
dreamed i^” 

Lie there then, Ursula, the fire will 
warm you You shiver as do I.” 

“ It seemed I was standing on a balcony, 
from which there was a lovely sweep of sky 
and horizon, the light a blending of fading 
twilight and the first rosy beams of a bright 
morning ; a shading, too, of those fair tints of 
pink and blue seen only in the sky. I was 
conscious of the presence of some dear ones 
near me, but at first did not recognize who.” 

Her nurse, fascinated, gazes up at her, at 
that head poised with its queenly air, at the 


64 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

full dark eyes, the lids slightly lifted in the 
centre, imparting to them always a look of 
hope and truth, gazes and feels a faintness 
creeping though her, for Lady Agnes has 
that which looks like death, a ghastly white- 
ness on her. 

''As I looked upward the heavens 
seemed covered with a white fleecy cloud, 
which gradually parting revealed the most 
beautiful sight my eyes ever rested on. The 
heavens were one vast picture gallery of ex- 
quisite paintings, all uniform in size, and 
placed in perfect order, with frames, although 
of a delicate gold color, partaking of the 
same ethereal lightness as the sky. The 
background of each picture was as of the 
heavens and floating island clouds.” 

Lady Agnes ceases here and closes her 
eyes. The old nurse involuntarily does the 
same. Slowly, thoughtfully, as before, she 
continues : " One thing which seemed to 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 65 

impress me was that with few exceptions 
figures of lovely women and children com- 
posed the pictures. Some, I quickly recog- 
nized. 

“ Raphaels sublime Madonna del San 
Sisto was as clear to my mind’s eye, as when 
I stood before it in the Dresden gallery. 
There were hundreds of others more beauti- 
ful, all immense in size, coursing in perfect 
order through the entire sky. 

“ Between them and my vision hung like 
a graceful curtain, the thinned, possible 
white lace-like cloud, through which I could 
plainly see this wonderfully beautiful sight. 
Thrilled with a delight I turned to see who 
was by me, when to my joyful surprise I saw 
my precious mother, her face radiant with 
happiness, in fleecy garments clad, while at 
her side there stood my father.” 

The nurse is sobbing, sobbing loud. 

“ For the instant my whole being was 


66 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

filled with a strange, new joy, and a calm- 
ness which no language can ever describe. 
Pointing to the glorious scene I cried, and 
the very tones of my voice rang as the chim- 
ing of sweet bells.” 

‘‘ My darling mother, father, and is this 
the land where there is no paiuy no sorrow, 
no death P” 

Not a sound did pass their lips. Their 
beloved faces, illumined by the joy and peace 
of Heaven, smilingly assented, turned they 
to mine, when in an instant floated the whole 
blest scene from me — floated. Oh, Ursula, 
stand by me — closely, closely, press me, 
dear !” 

“There, there.” 

“ Floated to come back.” 

“ Ursula, what can it mean ?” 

“ There was a look then on those pre- 
cious faces of such deep, deep, pain, such 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 67 

utter woe, compassion, that I shrieked in 
agony and fell down to die.” 

'‘Yes, yes, my Lady Agnes, I heard you. 
It was a fearful sound and brought me 
quaking with terror to your door.” 

Lady Agnes, staggering, crosses to her 
bed, and scarce breathing with exhaustion 
lies down. 

Her old nurse turns out the lights one 
by one. Still is the room dark, the curtains 
are so closely hung. Seating herself on the 
bedside, she rubs soothingly Lady Agnes’s 
hands, then passes her fingers to and fro 
across her forehead. When she thinks she 
sleeps she is surprised by the sudden open- 
ing of her eyes. 

“What can it mean, Ursula?’' 

“ Mean, why, that Lady Agnes has had a 
woeful nightmare.” 

“ No, Ursula, something is coming to 


me. 


68 . The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

To this there is no reply, and presently 
she sleeps. The old nurse nods and drops 
into oblivion, while the day settles into a 
severe one of snow and ice. 


The Soul of Lady Aggies, 


69 


V. 

That evening, near the hour of six, the 
butler, Sidney, is startled by a thundering 
peal of the front door-bell. He loses not a 
second in answering it. 

“ Is your mistress in ? Good evening, 
Sidney.” 

“ Yes, sir. Step right in, sir. Miss Lil- 
ington and Mr. Rightheart, sir, are in the 
next room.” 

Colonel James Livingston Killem has his 
great coat taken from him, his rubbers and 
umbrella, but his high hat he carries in his 
hand. His step is long, majestic. He 
enters the beautiful parlor and observes 
through a curtained doorway Lady Agnes 
conversing with her fiance. In the door- 
way he stands and bows a courtly bow.” 

Ah, my dear, I give myself the honor 


70 The Soul of Lady A^nes, 

to dine with you to-night. This is a plea- 
sure, Mr. Rightheart.” 

Lady Agnes, smiling, gives him her hand. 

“You arc welcome, Colonel Killem. 
Sidney,” she has touched an electric knob, 
“ another place.” 

“ My dear let there be no trouble.” 

“ There is none.” 

“ As I was remarking, Madame,” this is 
a title he uses freely, “ I carry, generally, 
items of interest culled from the daily papers. 
I have one here, from this little gathering 
which perhaps not, yet quite probably, you 
have seen.” 

V/hile conversing. Colonel James Killem 
draws from the crown of his hat a quantity 
of newspaper clippings, removes a slip and 
holding it daintily in his long, marvelously 
white fingers, pointed with carefully mani- 
cured nails, now reads : 

“ The engagement is announced of Miss 


The Soul of Lady Ag 7 tes, 71 

Dorothy Rightheart to Mr. Medoc Broms- 
grove — both of this city.” 

As he looks up, he sees that Lady Agnes 
is frowning at him, while her fianc^ has 
strange lines about his mouth. 

Ah ! ah ! quite old, I see, my dear. 
Permit me, there is a volume in the parlor 
of interest. I will skim it.” 

He gives a courtly bow and moves into 
the parlor. He seats himself on a lounge 
and holding the book some distance away, 
peruses, as he expresses it. 

Colonel James Livingston Killem is a 
thin, tall man somewhere in the fifties. 
With a few exceptions he is dressed in the 
latest style, dressed elegantly. His shirt 
front is bordered vrith ruffles. Circling his 
womanly wrists are also ruffles. His hair is 
a light, sandy color, as is his short moustache 
and goatee, which even now his left hand is 
curling. His nose is straight, aristocratic. 


*]2 The Soul cf Lady Agnes. 

while his eyes — one is a light brown in color, 
the other a bit of white ; the sight having 
been knocked out by a sort of William Tell 
arrangement when a boy. Colonel James 
Livingston Killem, a distant cousin of Lady 
Agnes, is a gentleman of leisure and a diner- 
out. 

“Carl, you say you cannot reconcile your- 
self to this engagement, but, perhaps — ” 

“ Agnes, dear, I have suffered more 
keenly this last week than ever in my life 
before To have my sister, who has always 
looked up to me, loved me devotedly, treat 
my words with such utter contempt as she 
has, as this announcement shows, for strange 
to say, I failed to see it in this morning’s 
paper. But hear me, I will break off the 
match. She shall not marry him. I swear 
it. I will kill him first.” 

“ Hush, Carl, do not talk so. Broms- 
grove moves in the best society. His fam- 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 73 

ily in Philadelphia are distinguished. He is 
no worse than many men because he drinks 
occasionally. No one is faultless.” 

Remember, Agnes, I know Broms- 
grove, have known him these dozen years 
and like him well enough as a friend, but as 
the husband of my sweet sister, I would — 
there is nothing I would not do to prevent 
it. He is drunk every night, so are many 
of the boys, but he is — . Darling, this is 
no talk for you. When Dorothy believes 
her heart is broken, you can heal it for her.” 

Poor Dorothy ! be gentle with her, 
Carl. Think how fearful it would be if any- 
thing should come between tts. Medcc 
loves Dorothy, remember, as passionately as 
she does him.” 

“ I know, I know. Why did it happen ? 
Dorothy is no child. She is a year older 
than yourself.” 

“ Yet I seem much older.” 


4 


74 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

'‘You are a woman, she a flighty girl.” 

“ I am orphaned, Carl. So is she.” 

"No, she has had a brother.” 

Lady Agnes’ eyes are filled with unshed 
tears. Rightheart draws close to her with- 
out a word. Dinner is announced, and they, 
forgetful of the quiet reader, repair to the 
dining-room. They sit down and have 
begun eating, when there is an exclamation : 

" Colonel Killem, Carl !” and back 
hastens Lady Agnes. 

" It has been some time, my dear, has it 
not, since you heard from Leighton ?” 

Colonel Killem placidly adjusts his nap- 
kin. 

"A short letter reached me from my 
aunt yesterday. Uncle Leighton is now sit- 
ting up.” 

" What a curious affair that was,” breaks 
in Rightheart, " and the would-be murderer 
not found yet.” 


The Sold of Lady Agnes, 75 

Curious indeed ; but is there no news 
relating to that young lady Leighton is 
guardian for?” 

“ Oh, Scita, Scita Chevannis ; yes, she 
has fallen in love. 

“In love!” the Colonel and Rightheart 
exclaimed together. 

“ Why not ?” and Lady Agnes looks 
amused. 

“ It is rather sudden,” says Rightheart, 
apologetically, “ I had been telling a chum 
about her.” But Colonel Killem is busy eat- 
ing. 

Lady Agnes laughs. “She is engaged 
to a Spaniard or Portuguese called Manuel 
Vasco. Aunt says she has been looking 
wretchedly for weeks, and the doctor now 
insists on her leaving Brazil. She is coming 
to be with me, but they can’t tell when she 
will start, as she fights against the bare sug- 
gestion with a fierceness which is terrifying. 


76 


The Soul of Lady Ag7ies, 


Aunt says she clenches her hands and fair- 
ly writhes. ‘ My Manuel ! My Manuel !’ she 
hoarsely moans, ‘ do you hear, my great 
handsome chief? Do you understand ? they 
want me to leave you. I’ll take that shin- 
ing, gaping knife from under your coat and 
pierce her first.’ 

“ ‘ No, no,’ then says Manuel, fastening 
her in his arms, 'you will go, and I shall 
follow. You go for my sake, eh, Scita, you 
jolly little Scita,’ and she shakes her head — 
yes.” 

Lady Agnes has told it charmingly. 

Colonel Killem sighs. 

" What a fascinating little wretch she 
must be.” 

Rightheart gazes at the calm face above 
him, and suggestively nods toward Colonel 
Killem. Lady Agnes suppressing a laugh, 
rises. 

"Don't wait.” Colonel Killem waves his 


77 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

hands. “ I will see you in the parlor when I 
complete my ablutions. Sidney, a basin 
please, soap, a towel and water. Don’t 
I—” 

But they, accustomed to him, have gone. 

Carl Rightheart stands at a window 
looking forth on the quiet night, his hands 
clasped at his back. He turns round slowly 
and absently scans the rich appointments of 
the room. The bright lights above him 
reveal his athletic figure strongly. He is 
handsome in a manly way. His broad white 
brow is intellectual, his light blue eyes gentle 
and determined in their changeful glare. 
His character, as shadowed forth in his face, 
has a clear, honest cleamcut air. Beneath a 
curled flaxen moustache, his mouth is partly 
seen. There is a bit of doggedness in the 
lips curves, the need of a gentle touch on the 
bridal reins, for as a spark breeds fire bad 
from good springs. 


78 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

Lady Agnes now enters, as does Colonel 
Killem, and the evening, due to a third 
party, passes dully. 

Before the hour of eleven, Rightheart is 
at home in his sister s sitting-room. Dorothy 
has a fluctuating color in her plump cheeks. 
She sews dashingly on a bit of fancy-work. 
There is a sign of war about her compact 
figure ; there is a flush of anger on her 
brother’s brow. He has been made 
acquainted with the fact that Medoc Broms- 
grove has passed the evening seated in the 
very chair he now moves restlessly in. Due 
to painful thoughts, or the utter absorption 
in the workings of his mind, Rightheart 
utters tersely a single word, “ d — n.” 

Its terror even causes him a start. 

If Medoc drinks a little wine occasion- 
ally, he does not swear, never forgets himself 
before a lady.” 

It would be far better if he did. 


79 


The Sozil of Lady Agnes, 

They would not then be quite so quick to 
love him. What is it that makes you girls 
throw yourselves away in marriage, let the 
blackest sort of men hoist themselves in and 
out your hearts at will ? What is love that 
can kiss infamy ? The very framing of such 
a thought blasts the sweetest word our lips 
can frame, the human heart leap to. And 
my sister, to permit a man of this sort to 
gain her affections, my pure, proud sister, 
trapped by a handsome face, a gentlemanly 
manner, whose reputation is no hidden book 
to her. My sister — ” 

“ Carl, how can you speak to me so ; even 
if you are my brother, you should not, 
Carl !” She goes to him and lays her hands 
on his. Have you, indeed, no faith in your 
sister. Let me tell you to-night, this very 
night, Carl — Medoc promised me solemnly 
— you should have seen him, he was a man 
to look up to, so handsome, with a grave. 


8o 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

holy fire on his face. He promised never 
again, never to touch another drop of 
liquor.” 

Rightheart, wannish grown, brushes her 
heavy hair from her contracted forehead, 
and presses his dry lips there. 

All right, Dorothy, we will see if he 
keeps his word. What day have you 
thought of for the wedding ?” 

His sister scarcely recognizes his voice 
and hesitates before replying. 

“The same day you and Agnes have 
chosen, the 27th.” 

“ A double wedding, then.” 

“ Yes.” 

Rightheart remains up hours after his 
sister has gone to bed, going over and over, 
as a squirrel runs in his ring, the torturing 
questions which his mind presents. 

“ He will disappoint you, Dorothy, and 
it will go hard ; but better before than after. 


8i 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

I declare I have suddenly a hatred for 
Bromsgrove as bitter as ever had a Philis- 
tine for a Jew. I know Medoc. It is in 
his gentlemanly blood.” 

It is midnight. Rightheart fitting up in 
bed asleep, vents his anger, hurls forth rapid 

sentences. 

4 * 


82 


The Sold of Lady Agnes, 


VI. 

Lady Agnes is dressing before her tall 
mirror. She wears a new gown to-night. 
Ursula is half through with its gold lacings, 
talking as she draws the threads in and out. 

What’s this of Miss Dorothy, darling ; 
has Mr. Rightheart said aye ? It’s whispered 
amongst the servant’s he’s treated her that 
gentle, that it’s likely to be forthcoming 
now.” 

"'Yes, there is to be a double wedding.” 

" What’s that my lady ? I don’t like the 
looks o’ that. It’s too much of a mixture ; 
there’s likely to be a tripping of tongues. 
No, darling, just stand you up bravely alone 
by your loved one’s side. I warrant me it’s 
better.” 

"What an old goose you are, Ursula. 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 83 

Stop croaking and tie the knot. Now leave 
me. Carl is not coming until late.” 

The old nurse hobbles backward to the 
door, stopping twice to lower the heightened 
wicks of two tiny stained lamps. At the 
door she waits, rubbing its smooth handle 
with her withered palm. 

‘‘ My Lady, it is snowing blindly. If 
Mr. Carl is not here by ten, Td not sit up 
longer.” 

Do go, Ursula.” 

Ever since that night you shrieked 
aloud as one in childbirth, your cheeks have 
been no brighter than the spread of yonder 
bed. Get you there, my Lady, and take back 
your own.” 

“ Go, Ursula, you make me nervous with 
such talk. You look like some muttering 
hob-goblin. See, I twist my fingers. Now 
there is no harm to me from what you say.” 


84 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

'‘No harm ; as if I wished her harm — 
my darling, my beautiful Lady, harm.” 

“ Nurse, I have been only joking — could 
you not see ? But do go like a dear old 
thing.” 

She leaves her, this nurse who knows all 
the fancies, whims of her fair charge — leaves 
her with her withered forehead puckered, 
knotted up — looking like snarled tempers on 
a bit of cracked wood, and a wondering 
anxious gloom about her eyes and mouth. 

Alone, Lady Agnes sinks in a low chair, 
drawn close to a table, picks up a book and 
reads. Nothing but the fretful whining of 
ill-burning gas sounds. Time passes. She 
lays down the book, its face hidden, and 
commences steadily pacing from the bureau 
to the door, from the door to the armoire 
and back again. 

The heavy folds of her brown velvet 
gown make a faint brustling, tender sound. 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 85 

As a field of daises chided by a sighing 
breeze, turn and turn about, does her bosom^ 
her shapely head sway, in unconscious 
unison with the purity of her maiden 
thoughts. Her drooping lids half conceal 
her luminous eyes, which breathe of perfect 
trust, undoubted love. A trusting love which 
glides through the leaves of memory and 
wakes a dripping rain wet lover’s alley with 
the fading glories of the dying sun in its 
midst, for in death comes life and the sun 
will shine on a morrow. 

Softly, she is saying to herself : 

Two lives seeming. The truer, the 
diviner living in the heart, the brain. If 
dividing they are fruitless, if mingling, work 
grows fair. Through starry dreaming, 
dreams grow holy, put in action (’tls not 
then all seeming).” 

Hush was not that the bell ? She hur- 
ries into the hall, leans over the balustrade, 


86 The Sold of Lady Agnes. 

listening, but hearing nothing, returns to her 
reading. 

Outside in the flecked night, their heavy 
coats wet, padded with snow, are two men. 
Both wear their beaver collars turned high, 
their breathing curling thickly, hotly, from 
out the draggled fur. Hissingly in their 
teeth the gusty wind comes. The shorter 
man is Rightheart, who, with a strong and 
broad hand, clutches the other’s arm, holds 
him by all the force he can command on his 
feet, drags him on. Through sheer exhaus- 
tion he rests him presently against a lamp- 
post, and fastening his arms around him to 
prevent his falling, stands with him face to 
face. His lips move and curl up, showing 
the strong grating teeth beneath. His hat 
is knocked back and a patch of dark hair 
spreads close to his eyes, thickly covered 
with the glistening snow shining as fire-fly 
lamps through darkness. On his moustache 


I 


87 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

hang dripping flakes, while on his temples 
the veins bulge. In heavy, loud gasps he 
breathes. 

“You’re about blowed ! Here, I’ll lend 
a hand !” 

“No you don’t, no you don’t put your 
nasty hand on me. Come now, I’ll stand no 
fooling.” 

The policeman chuckles. 

“ He’s livelier than I guessed. You’ve 
kept him pretty quiet — want me ?” 

Rightheart motions him to be off. 
“No, he lives on the next block, you make 
him flerce.” He still continues to speak 
through his teeth The policeman, with a 
curious look, moves back. 

“ Chappie, we’ll be late to church. 
Now, chappie, let’s go. I’m not your girl 
you need hug me so. Let loose, chappie, 
let loose, or d — n Til make you T and suit- 
inof his action to the word, he batters down 

O 


88 The Soul of Lady Agnes 

the other’s arm. Rightheart pinions him 
quickly, and pushing his face close to the 
wine-stained one, he lets the terrible light in 
his eyes penetrate the drunkard’s through 
and through. While teeming with sup- 
pressed emotions, he hisses in his ear : 

“ Be careful, Bromsgrove.” 

As a whipped cur, his heavy head drops. 

Come along, it’s snaky out here, and 
that many-eyed devil is watching us — hie.” 

The policeman is still eyeing them. 
They start on and make good progress, for 
Bromsgrove is steadier. His coat has 
become loosened, and is fighting with the 
wind, revealing his full evening attire, his 
crumpled shirt-front with the flashing dia- 
monds jumping on it. The policeman 
moves aside as they pass, then follows. He 
waits to see the house door shut them in 
before resuming his beat. 

“ That tipsy fellow’s in rough hands ! 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 89 

His eyes looked murderous ! God, but that 
er racker wants a Susan !” 

He stows away the canteen and stops 
ruminating. 

Rightheart, in Bromsgrove’s room, stands 
over the fire, leaning on the mantel, his 
eyes glistening serpent like, the pupils 
inflated. They have made a quiet en- 
trance ; Bromsgrove’s rooms occupying 
the first floor of an apartment house. 
Sprawled full length across the bed is the 
inebriate, drenched, gorged with the pilfered 
grapes blood soaked in fire. 

“ Come, chappie, hand me a night-shirt. 
What the devil ! won’t the things come off ?” 

Bromsgrove is sitting dizzily on the bed- 
side tugging at his clothes. He casts them 
aside, swearing, then suddenly breaks forth 
in gurgling laughter. 

“Huzza, chappie, huzza. You’re fixed 
to be best man ‘ at the take me better, make 


90 


% 


The Sold of Lady Agnes, 

me worse.’ Sweetest, dearest girl in Chris- 
tendom ! Smell the Cham ! Gad you don’t 
know her, my dear boy. No one knows her 
but me, she’s so angelic proud. Ho, ho 

Dorothy. Ho, Dor — ” 

Rightheart, springing on him, fells the 
half-uttered word in his thirsty throat, strik- 
ing him on his side a sounding blow, when 
flinging back the door, he dashes out into 
the snow. 

Bromsgrove, rising painfully from the bed 
raging angry, starts for the door — “ Come 
back, get me that shirt T 

Half clad as he is, falling, he remains 
face down upon the floor mid-way to the 
door, when rolling over, he works his head 
in between his arms, and like this the next 
morning is found, the gas yelling at full 
speed above his head, as might demons from 
Hades cast. 

Lady Agnes is positive she hears the 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 91 

bell, and, not waiting this time, hurries down 
herself to answer it. 

“ Carl, what is the matter ? You are 
dripping wet !” in her fright she speaks soft- 

ly- 

‘‘ Yes, don’t make a noise. It is rather 
late and I’ll not stay but a minute.” 

She strides ahead of him and, holding 
back the portiere, stands like a sentinel for 
him to pass. 

He still wears his great coat, but has left 
his hat in the hall. 

“ Why is it you are not frightened, 
Agnes, I am enough to dismay the evil one 
himself, to-night. I declare I can’t remem- 
ber the time when I have felt so completely 
wrecked.” 

'' Rest there then, and not another word. 
You will have a cup of steaming coffee in a 
short time.” In a steady voice. Lady Agnes 
speaks. While turning to a tray standing 


92 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

near, bearing a kettle, cups and saucers, left 
there from the afternoon tea, she lights the 
kerosene lamp. Rapidly the room is filled 
with the coffee’s fragrance. 

“It has been cooked once, but no matter, 
it will do you good.” 

She pours out a brimming cupful of the 
liquid. “ Drink.” 

“ Come where I can see you, then.” 

She is before him — and he has caught 
hold of her gown. 

“ This is very good coffee.” 

“ It is Mocha, direct from Arabia, Felix.” 

Even as she answers her cheeks pale. 
“ Carl, how could you keep on that dripping 
coat, off with it at once.” 

He laughs as he rises to obey, at its 
sound Lady Agnes for the first time feels 
a shudder chilling her. Impulsively she 
bends her head to his. “ How fearfully 
weary you are, Carl. What has happened ?” 


93 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

Let me have you closer, yes, closer.” 

The shades of her gold brown gown 
match with those on her hair and in her wide 
open eyes. 

She looks so confident in her youth and 
beauty, so supremely fair and lovely, that 
the thought of being the giver of the slight- 
est pain ; of having to tell her of anything 
less fair than her pure joyous self, is anguish, 
unutterable anguish. A mighty tremor 
rushes through him, a choking, heart-break- 
ing sob, escapes him, — one breathless instant 
— and — his face throbs on hers. 

She whispers : ‘‘Out with it, Carl ; don’t 
feel like that.” 

Bravely he now begins. 

“ As I was passing a hotel to-night on my 
way here, some one called me. Staggering 
from the entrance came Bromsgrove.” 

“ Oh, Dorothy ! No, don’t mind me. 
Go on,” for he has ceased at that cry of pain. 


94 Soul of Lady Agfies. 

“ He caught me by the arm and I 
couldn’t shake him off. By himself, he 
would not have been able to have kept on 
his feet long. I thought for Dor’s sake it 
would be well to get him home quietly, as 
they were engaged. It was doing her a 
kindness. Well, the long and short of it is, 
I left him in his room ; but, Agnes, had not 
my thoughts for you surged round my heart, 
nothing could have restrained me from kill- 
ing him. As it was I — ” 

“ Thank God, Carl, thank Him. Oh, but 
Dorothy, what shall we do for her. Don’t 
tell her to-night. You are so horribly tired, 
and you will need considerable strength for 
it. Let me tell her, let me. It will be far 
better for you both.” 

But shaking his head, he lifts his coat, 
works himself in it. 

“ If Dorothy is up she will know to-night. 
It is none too soon and I am the proper one 


95 


The Sold of Lady Agnes, 

to tell her. She could say you had not seen 
him drunk. She could say anything to you, 
dearest, but to me she will not dare reply. 
Simply break the engagement at once. A 
promise has always been inexorable to us.” 

“ Don’t be so cold, Carl, or you will kill 
her. Promise me, you will not.” 

“ No, I’ll not be hard on Dorothy. I 
never have. One more kiss. Agnes, do 
you know you look divine to-night ?” 

He is pausing with one hand on the front 
door. An irrepressible something seizes, 
shakes her slender form convulsively. Pas- 
sionately fall her words : 

“You cannot go. Come back! You 
must stay longer. I want to look at you. I 
want you Jiered 

In dumb amazement he hears her, and 
the fierce, indefinable fear which makes her 
usually clear, steady tones to vibrate, pene- 
trate him, shocks him so that his shattered 


96 The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

nerves grow suddenly calm. He resolves at 
once to go. He has been keeping her up 
far too late. What a brute he is. 

“ You will see me in the morning. Hor 
rors, look at the time, Agnes !” 

And as she glances at the clock she says 
mechanically : 

“ I noticed mine when I heard you ring. 
It was then exactly half-past eleven and now 
it is only one.” 

He is gone, and Lady Agnes is in her 
room pulling down her hair, while Ursula 
crouches on the hearth, building up the fire 
to last throughout the night. The wind has 
risen and it grows freezing cold. The very 
window-panes are shaking. The frost clings 
quickly to them, crackling loudly. 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 


97 


VII. 

It is a bitter day, a gray, depressing day. 
Lady Agnes, in her furred morning gown, 
leans over her zither, touching the slender 
strings with practiced fingers. It is now a 
gay waltz she thumbs, again the latest song. 
She is in a small square room, hung in yellow 
twisted silk, everything has the hue of gold, 
dimmed gold. It is a private parlor leading 
from the other. A diamond of great price, 
rare beauty, is on her fourth finger — Right- 
heart s gift. She watches the rapid chang- 
ing lights spring from it while she plays. 
There is high color in her cheeks, her 
lips, she is full of deep thoughtfulness. 
Her gov/n of white silk is girdled in, and 
shows off well her height, her figure. 
There comes low, rolling growls from the 
rug-like creature she keeps her foot upon. 


98 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

and which lies stretched, like a great, black 
streak across her train. 

Rightheart, entering now, thus finds her. 
He brings a gust of biting air within, she 
tastes of the wintry freshness of the ice and 
cold of him and loses color. He throws 
himself down in a chair as one pleasantly 
exhausted. 

“ My proud Lily !” 

'' My great, rough Sir Winter. You 
smell icy.” 

“ Do I, though. Come, thaw me out 
then. Mistress Summer.” 

Carl, what of Dorothy ?” 

“ I told her last night.” 

Unconsciously has Lady Agnes been 
toying with her zither strings, and drawn a 
harsh crash from them, causing such a fierce 
vibration, that to still the cords she has to 
clap both hands upon them. 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 99 

Riglitheart s brows are creased and low- 
ering. 

For heaven^s sake don’t do that again, 
Agnes.” 

She looks at him in still surprise. What 
does he mean by speaking to her like that. 
Her head goes a trifle higher. She rises, 
clasping her zither, and starts to move ; but 
the sleeping dog is still on her train, and she 
does not think it worth while to push him 
off. She stands, looking cold and haughty. 

Rightheart, not understanding himself, 
enjoys watching her. He is in a beastly 
mood this morning, last night has made him 
callous. She is bowing to him, stepping 
back toward the portieres, the dog still 
curled upon her train. 

Some beautiful fantasy which the Crea- 
tor, not being the Almighty, lacked in giving 
life. She is fading from him, and he loves 
her. Is he daft ? 


loo The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

Agnes !” 

A cry escapes her. 

“ I must see Miss Lilington. Is she 
in ?” 

‘'Yes, Miss.” 

It is his sister’s voice. Dorothy is stand- 
ing in the doorway. What in the name of 
common sense has come over him. One 
sleepless night should not use him up like 
this. 

“ Agnes, I have come to stay with you. 
I must not be alone, it is dangerous. Did 
Carl tell you ? Of course it is true ; Carl 
never lies. Oh, Agnes what shall I do ? I 
love him so.” 

Lady Agnes makes her sit down, and 
herself removes her over-shoes, rubs her 
cold hands. Then is it that Dorothy look- 
ing up sees her brother. 

“You here, too, Carl! it was not very 
pleasant for you last night, was it. You 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, loi 

walked the floor as well as I. Don’t you 
see how badly he is looking, Agnes. Men 
can’t stand the slightest thing, while we 
endure torment. Oh, Agnes what shall I do ? 
I must not see him, do you hear Carl ? for if 
I do I will run away with him. It is the 
truth, there is something in me which will 
drive me to it. No, Agnes, don’t touch me, 
you make me feel, and it is not pleasant, I 
tell you.” 

A confused murmur comes from the hall. 
Doroth)^, her face crushed against the chair’s 
back, pushes out her hands fiercely. 

'* Don’t let any one in here.” 

Lady Agnes is trying to make out what 
the voices say. 

Rightheart, leaning forward, listens. 

What is it, Sidney ?” 

I dunno, to God I don’t, but there’s 
men here wanting to see Mr. Rightheart.” 

“ Are they in the parlor ?” 


102 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

“ Yes, sir.” 

Well, what are you waiting for ? I will 
be there in a moment.” 

The butler stumbles as he moves away, 
while his eyes are rolled up in his head. 

Agnes, dearest, forgive me !” Right- 
heart’s voice is tremulous. '' But seeing 
Dorothy like this is too much. The scene 
last night unnerved me.” 

She does not reply, but follows him to 
the parlor door, pausing as he enters ; then, 
seeing the three men standing there, with a 
rigid air, catches up her train, now free, and 
holds it to her with a strong, unshaking 
hand. About her white lips a tiny blue line 
creeps as she steps into the room. 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 


103 


VIII. 

Are you Mr. Carl Rightheart ?’* she 
hears one of the men say. 

'' I am. What is it T 

“ I arrest you, sir.” 

‘‘ Arrest him for what ?” 

If death had entered there could not have 
been a greater stillness. Rightheart is the 
first to recover himself. 

This is a mistake, Agnes. I would not 
remain if I were you.” 

I spoke to you, sir.” 

“ Miss,” the man is brutal in his fear, 
we have orders to arrest this gentleman 
for murder.” 

Murder ! my God !” The anguished 
words come twitching from her stiffened 
lips. 

‘‘Who is murdered ?” 


104 of Lady Agnes, 

“Mr. Bromsgrove, Miss.’^ 

“ What ?" 

Dorothy is cringing to the floor. She 
springs forward, she wrenches the man’s arm. 

“ What did you say ?” 

“ There’s been a murder, Miss.” 

There is a horrible rattling in the officer’s 
throat. 

“Yes, I know. Did you say Medoc 
Bromsgrove was dead?'" 

“Yes. A murdered man is generally 
dead.” 

A fiendish cry breaks from her. She 
throws off his arm with a painful force. , 
She loses all strength. She falls in great 
confusion, lies breathing loudly. Rightheart 
carries her silently to a sofa, she fights him 
with useless force. 

“You can kill me now, you can kill me 
now. Medoc is dead ! dead !” 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 105 

Her breathing is hushed. There is a 
brief silence. 

'‘You will come with us at once, sir ; we 
have our orders,” 

“You are the policeman who offered me 
aid last night?” 

The butler — his thick lips shaking — is 
assisting him with his coat. 

At Rightheart’s question the men look 
at each other, nothing escapes Lady Agnes. 

“ At what time was this discovered ?” 

Without hesitancy an officer answers : 
“At eleven. Miss.” 

“ You are keeping us.” 

Rightheart mechanically moves ahead. 
Lady Agnes is at his side. He tries to 
speak to her, but fails. She see’s the 
motion of his lips. There is no need for 
words. The look he gives her strains her 
heart, she summons up her soul in hers, and 

so they part. 

6 * 


io6 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

A helpless, thrilling shriek breaks 
through them. 

“ Go back to Dorothy, Agnes.” 

He is being hurried down the slippery 
steps and into the waiting carriage, but he 
calls again, the frosty air sending his words 
icily to her: Go to Dor.” 

The carriage is gone. 

Carl Rightheart, between two officers, sits 
rigidly, dumbly, borne to prison, charged with 
the murder of his sister’s betrothed. His 
faculties seem paralyzed. He cannot think 
connectedly. He sees ever two faces. Lady 
Agnes’s and Dorothy’s, and sees nothing 


more. 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 


107 


IX. 

Lady Agnes stands where he left her in 
the hall. There is a wild suppressed look 
of uncertainty in her eyes, an intense calm- 
ness in her manner. She hears Ursula with 
Dorothy, hears her chiding, petting, all in a 
breath. The old woman’s shrill tones rising 
above the girl’s choking sobs. She hears 
Dorothy now calling “ Agnes, Agnes,” and 
turning, runs swiftly up the stairs. 

In her chamber, she throws aside her 
gown for another heavier, more suitable for 
street wear. As she leans close to her mir- 
ror, pinning on her veil, her agitated breath- 
ing breaks loudly through the room, while to 
her lips and cheeks the color comes. Like 
one fascinated she peers at herself. She sees 
nothing but her great eyes, flashing a canny 
light, devouring her with their unholy fire. 


io8 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

She is loth to leave them and steps backward 
to the door, they flashing, jumping at her. 
Suddenly, with a sharp, fierce movement, she 
turns her back upon them and draws calmly 
on her gloves. Sidney has been watchful and 
is standing at his post, opening the door for 
her as she approaches. He is in the act of 
fastening it, when his mistress flings it back. 

The cry of Agnes ” has come to her. 
The butler fairly cowed, seems as does she 
for one long, full second, not of living clay. 
His ebony skin colors grey. While around 
her lips is that blue line stealing. 

''No one is to be admitted while I am 
gone,” she says. 

The carriage has departed before he can 
recover sufficiently his wits to close the door. 
Still strong, still mistress of her feelings, 
Lady Agnes is on her way to consult with 
her lawyer. Dorothy’s soul-rending cry 
had clearly unnerved her. But she knew 


109 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

what she must do, recovered her strength, 
and is convinced that she can do it. Law- 
yer Toone looks at her card, then goes into 
the hall to receive her. Lawyer Toone has 
heard about the murder, as has every one by 
this time, in and out of the city. 

‘‘ Miss Lilington !” 

She gives him her hand. 

''You have called at an opportune 
moment. Fifteen minutes later, and I 
would have been indulging in my dinner.” 

She has unconsciously, perhaps, seated 
herself in his chair with her back to the 
light. He must depend on her voice then. 
He conceals all signs eagerly and chats unre- 
strainedly. He smells of the bit of gera- 
nium looking up from his coats lappel, show- 
ing his client his smoothly plastered hair. 
Lawyer Toone is clean shaven, being per- 
sonally well favored, but with the artful 
expression of a knowing child. 


no The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

There is no doubt, Mr. Toone, but that 
you have seen this Extra.” 

He snaps off the top of the geranium 
spray. He is delighted. It is nothing now, 
nothing. They will. When a woman can 
control her voice like that, like that. It is 
business. The case is his. 

Yes, Miss Lilington,” and he catches 
himself saying it almost jollily, **and what 
is more, I have had a chat with Mr. Right- 
heart.” 

‘‘He sent for you, then ?” 

“ I went to him as a friend.” 

“ You will stand by him as his lawyer.” 

Tollins Toone bows. 

In his satisfaction he has so far forgotten 
himself that he is measuring her profile, 
chin, nose, forehead, perfect lines of beauty. 
But my statue, lady, you are too pale to- 
day. She is pulling at her veil and he 


The Soul of Lady Agnes^ iii 

observes her fingers tremble. Exactly — he 
is on the case once more. 

‘ Make yourself comfortable. I shall 
have to explain. Be so kind as to give me 
your undivided attention. I begin : The 
murdered gentlemans name is Medoc 
Bromsgrove.” 

He is not looking at her, but at his 
decapitated leaf, thus catching sight of her 
daintily booted feet. 

“ Medoc Bromsgrove was a Philadel- 
phian by birth, but a resident of this city. 
He was addicted to liquor. His engage- 
ment had but recently been announced to a 
young lady of means of high standing in 
New York. It was well known in their 
social circle that Miss Rightheart s brother 
objected to the match, in fact, refused to 
acknowledge it.” 

If she would move a trifle, it would be 
pleasanter, for her profile is twisted. 


112 The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

Now there was only one reason for this 
objection, as Mr. Bromsgrove’s family is an 
old Philadelphia one ; that reason, the gen- 
tleman s fondness for drink. 

‘^All this Mr. Rightheart freely 
acknowledges. Finding himself unable to 
lessen his sisters love, a night recently when 
he for the last time was pleading with her, 
she confidentially told him that Mr. Broms- 
grove had that very evening made her a 
solemn promise to abstain from all intoxicat- 
ing drinks. If he fails to keep his word 
before our wedding day, I will break the 
engagement at once, she told him. 

Mr. Rightheart as he informs me, then 
let the matter drop. Don’t permit this to tire 
you. Miss Lilington, it is necessary that 
you should see everything distinctly.” 

Ah ! she moves ! Once more is her pro- 
file clear. 

'' Last night, a policeman met two men. 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 1 1 3 

One he swears to be Mr. Rightheart ; the 
other, he knew as Mr. Bromsgrove. The 
latter, as usual, was heavily under the influ- 
ence of liquor. In the gentleman’s looks, as 
he led his drunken companion home, was 
something which seemed suspicious. Plainly 
speaking, the policeman swears he looked 
murderous. He followed them, and stood 
around until they disappeared in the house 
which is on his beat. They entered by 
means of a latch-key. The policeman saw 
Mr. Rightheart take it from the drunkard’s 
pocket. 

‘‘ Now follow closely. This policeman 
goes on watch at ten. He did so that 
night. He was not farther than a block 
away, when later he saw a figure running 
swiftly from a house and vanish in the dark- 
ness. He lost no time in reaching the spot. 
He found that the front door of one of the 
houses was flung open. He ran up the 


1 14 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

stoop and into the hallway, another door 
was partially open, through which the light 
streamed. He pushed it back and saw a 
man lying on his face in the centre of the 
room. Turning him over, he at once recog- 
nized Mr. Bromsgrove. 

The body was then quite warm. I am 
almost through Miss Lilington. Now this 
policeman looked at his watch. It was 
eleven. The deed had been committed, then, 
say at half-past ten. Another point. 

“The police department was informed 
at once, the autopsy taken, facts gleaned, 
and it was made known that there had been 
also a robbery. 

“ The safe in his room was broken open 
and money taken ; the amount is not 
known ; also the studs from the dead man’s 
shirt. Mr. Bromsgrove died from a severe 
contusion. 


The Soul of Lady Agnes* 115 

An enormous bruise was on his body — 
resulting from a powerful blow.” 

He grows nervous. She seems battling 
for breath. 

There are the facts. 

“ There was a known reason for the dis- 
approval of Mr. Rightheart’s sister’s mar- 
riage with Mr. Bromsgrove. 

“Mr. Rightheart was last seen with Mr. 
Bromsgrove, who was drunk. 

Mr. Rightheart is said to have looked 
murderous. They were seen to go into the 
latter’s home together. 

“ The stolen money is thought to be a 
blind. 

“ Death was caused by a blow 07 i the 
heart. The impression of a fist being 
clearly planted on the flesh. 

“ So much is against us. 

“ What we have is this. 

“ Miss Rightheart had given her word 


ii6 The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

that if Mr. Bromsgrove failed in his prom- 
ise, she would break the engagement. 
Therefore, all her brother had to do, was to 
tell her that he had seen Mr. Bromsgrove 
intoxicated, had taken him home. How 
ludicrous the need of murder ! And this, 
say, is what Mr. Rightheart did 

“ Meanwhile there is a scoundrel who 
steps in at this fateful moment, does the 
deed for money, or killed him, perhaps, in 
self-defense, for Mr. Bromsgrove may have 
tried to fight him, escapes, and is seen by 
the policeman running. All that is known 
is, remember, only what the officer says. 
No one else knows anything concerning the 
affair. The house in which Mr. Bromsgrove 
had his apartment was intended to be used 
thus, but at this time the other floors were 
unoccupied. So there was no one to be 
roused by any noise. 

“ The word of Miss Lilington against a 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 1 1 7 

poor policeman s, with matters as they stand, 
would suffice for any jury. They would rise 
as one man to announce, ' Not guilty.’ I 
think you understand me.” 

She has both her hands under her gauze 
veil, pressing them hotly, tightly to her face. 

Miss Lilington, there are but two things 
which will save Mr. Rightheart from being 
imprisoned for murder. The finding of the 
real murderer, or — ” 

“ You say it ! You dare to say it !” ■ 

•She is towering over him. Lawyer 
Tollins Toone, fascinated, looks up at her. 

He speaks coolly. 

“ You had decided to do it before you 
came to me. I saw it written through your 
voice.” 

“ Carl, what is this I do ? for you Carl ?” 

She breathes it forth in one long, awful, 
tremulous whisper. 


1 1 8 The Soul of Lady Agates, 

Tollins Toone is listening, smelling his 
geranium spray. 

I swear that he was with me at half- 
past ten. I was making a cup of coffee for 
him at eleven.” 

Her voice is harsh and cracked. 

It is good. The word of Miss Liling- 
ton suffices.” 

“ Lawyer Toone !” 

“ Miss Lilington !” 

She has turned on him abruptly at the 
door. But before she can speak he remem- 
bers. 

“ Mr. Rightheart is to know nothing of 
our plan. It is a dead secret,” 

“ Would you mind giving me that spray 
in your coat ?” 

Her manner causes his forehead to 
pucker. He is most courteous. But dares 
not bow, as he hands it to her. 

Thanks.” 


'The Soul of Lady Agnes, 119 

Bewitched, he watches the graceful turn- 
ings of her wrists, gloved fingers, as she tears 
the leaf into strips, and moving to the win- 
dow, throwing it wide, sends them floating 
in the snowy air ; when sweeping past him, 
descends the stairs, her form convulsed with 
unshed tears. 

Then it is he bows. 


120 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 


X. 

The trial was set for a Tuesday on the 
24th day of the month. It is the evening 
before a bright, wintry night, and there is 
good sleighing abroad. 

Lady Agnes lights her bed-room lamps 
and locks her door. She needs all her 
thoughts collected. The slightest thing for- 
gotten, unexpected, might prove fatal. She 
must use her wits this night — a life depends 
upon them. Lawyer Toone is directing his 
strong faculties on this case, which should 
mean no failure on his part or hers ; for 
both, absolute success. Tollins Toone is 
working for the one woman he has ever 
adored, and is seemingly choosing the least 
of two very bad evils for her. Before his 
desk — a peculiar smile on his face — he pro- 
pounds the question thus: '‘A tender, sensi- 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 121 

tive, high-minded woman can better stand 
any amount of suffering brought on herself 
for her lover’^ sake, than to be separated, to 
see the man she loves shut off from life — 
unjustly accused, torn from her while she is 
able, no matter at what cost, to save him. 
It is a desperate matter anyway, for her — 
but before she came to him he was convinced 
of the course she would pursue. And was he 
mistaken ?” 

That peculiar smile has broadened. He 
goes on deliciously : “ I am generous ; I am 
strong, mentally and physically ; I can appre- 
ciate the strength, power, the one thought of 
this beautiful, pure-minded woman, who 
alone — absolutely — faces boldly, unfalter- 
ingly, her fate. Enough — ” 

His mental colloquy unnerves him, as a 
lawyer he clenches on it, then beats it 
down. 

As a matter of course the trial has been 


6 


122 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

put off to the latest hour that more time may 
be given the Court, time which Lawyer 
Toone uses in having the murderer hunted 
down. 

The police, without a single clue, go 
stumblingly. The chase is a hopeless one 
from the start. 

Lady Agnes seems to have fallen in an 
apathy. Her tired brain is demanding rest. 
There is not a sound throughout the house 
to disturb her. She has been asleep ; how 
long, she knows not. There is some one 
vigorously pounding on her door. She 
thinks a moment then opens it. Sidney is 
standing there. She motions him to come 
in and close the door. 

“ Miss Lilington, I couldn’t see Colonel 
Killem. He’s been complaining these last 
days of sickness, and this morning he called 
for an apple and a pitcher of water, and went 
off without a word to his study, the maid 


, The Soul of Lady Agnes, 123 

says ; you know the Colonel don’t believe in 
doctors nor medicines, Miss Lilington ; 'it’s 
starving the stomach that cures the man,’ he 
clars. Well, Miss Lilington, to be sure that 
girl wasn’t lying, I crept upstairs and 
listened by the study door. Sure enough 
the Colonel was in there, for I heard him 
crunching, as if he was eating one of those 
apples. I made mighty quick work of get- 
ting down those stairs. Miss, for I’ve heard 
tell the Colonel was gracious queer.” 

“ You did right not to disturb him, Sid- 
ney. Did you hear how long he would keep 
himself shut in ?” 

“ Yes, Miss, when he’s took sudden and 
severe like, it’s likely to last a week, and the 
girl says this was mighty sudden and alarm- 
ing.” 

"Very well, Sidney. Give me the note. 
Took sudden and alarming like. Ah, James 
Livingston Killem, so you did hear Carl 


124 Sold of Lady Agnes, 

talking rashly that night. No one will sus- 
picion anything you may do. Everybody 
knows of your eccentricities. Yes, you are 
serving me a good turn by keeping away. / 
appreciate this sudden indisposition.” 

Lady Agnes is talking to herself, a 
pathetic glimmer in her eyes. She twists 
her arms across her heaving bosom, buries 
her quivering face in them. Suddenly she 
wrenches her head away, presses her hands 
against her eyes, checks her tears, and going 
to the bed, throw^s herself face down upon it, 
to lie there writhing, tossing. 

“ Carl, Carl, in your prison cell, you are 
not burning with the thoughts of future hell 
as am I. That dream, I understand it now. 
Oh, horrible ! Are they now like that, those 
faces, those faces, for already my soul is 
black. Mother, what would you have me 
do ? Oh, God, I cannot let them take him 
off, imprison him who never lifted a finger 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 125 

to do any one a wrong. If only they could 
find the murderer, this night. Oh, God, help 
the searchers, help them ; give him up. To- 
morrow and it will be too late — for me. I, 
with money, position, everything in my 
grasp am powerless, powerless as the poorest, 
weakest mortal to save him from ' imprison- 
ment for life ’ except in this one way. If I 
had not money, honor attached to my name, 
even this would fail, thank heavens so much 
is mine, with it and Lawyer Toone, / will 
save," 

She is standing by her bureau looking 
at her watch. » 

Only one o’clock.” 

She gives one long bursting sob, then 
grave, beautiful, composed, turns to the win- 
dow. 

As the panorama of life unrolls before 
the dying eyes of a drowning man, as the 
petty and vast sins arise in the last awful 


126 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

second, so truly does the play course before 
young eyes, flashing on the brink of an 
abyss, seeing in its depths, conscious of but 
half it holds for them, horrified at staring 
uncertainty, numbed by reality, fascinated, 
clutched by both. A once spotless soul 
tempted, smutched, the deed in thought 
committed. Pray, Lady Agnes, pray. She 
stands by the window looking out, her 
heavy throbbing cheek and temple pressed 
to the icy pane. 

In the nineteenth century. Nothing new 
under the sun. Moralize, moralize, what a 
farce it all is. Here am I, a fashionable 
beauty, the envied of many, the ideal of all 
that is fair and lovely, I, Agnes. Yes ; you. 
Lady Agnes, as James Killem called you 
when a babe. I, Lady Agnes Lilington in 
this matter of fact world, am martyred even 
as there was martrydom a hundred years 
ago ; then it was religion, love. Now it is 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 127 

Love ! Almighty Love ! God ! God ! God ! 
Why am I the one to suffer ? Why comes 
this to me ? Why tempt me, I who have 
always been good ? 

The window-panes shiver and crackle. 
Her tears freeze in drops on them. It is so 
horrible, so horrible. I never can be proud 
again, perhaps it is this lesson. You want 
to teach me humility ; then, dear God, I have 
learned it to-night. It will make me wicked, 
I know it will make me wicked to do that 
thing, but I must. You wouldn’t have an 
innocent man condemned for murder. Dear 
God, take pity, give up the murderer ; save 
Carl and me. He has broken already. 
Suffering makes some people, they say, 
better, other’s worse. Carl has a look in his 
eyes -which I cannot endure ; it might, I will 
whisper it to you, God, mean, if they con- 
victed him — suicide ; it need not be bodily, 
but mentally ; morally, it means helL 


128 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

The very room echoes her pleading, soul- 
rending cry. There is a rattling at the door. 
The old nurse calls to be let in. 

'‘No, Ursula, we are enough already. 
Keep safe outside that door. My company 
would only frighten you.’' 

“ Lady Agnes ! darling, let me in. You 
are crazy. I bid you let me in !” 

“No more crazy than you, Ursula. I am 
only spinning on the road ; it makes me a 
trifle dizzy as yet, but I will soon get my 
be ring.” 

“ Let me in !” 

“ I am not alone, don’t be frightened. 
My friends are only God and the devil.” 
She says it in a natural tone. 

The old nurse frenzied, wrenches, tears at 
the door. Lady Agnes hears her summon- 
ing aid, listlessly hears them breaking open 
the door, hears Ursula push a chair against 
it to keep it shut. The nurse is with her at 


129 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

the window, entreating her to go to sleep. 
She is a wise woman, she asks no questions, 
she seems only fearful she will tire herself, 
take cold. It is two o’clock. Lady Agnes 
is still by the window ; leaning now on its 
woodwork. Her cheeks, lips, hands, throat 
are cold as is the morning. She is half faint- 
ing with weariness. 

‘'Ursula, that was some one? You 
know they were to send me word the 
moment they found the murderer. Ursula, 
was it some one ?” 

The nurse makes no reply. The noise 
ceases. A whining comes from the hall. 
Lady Agnes half falls as she starts to reach 
the door, but recovering, is able to open it 
to the crying dog, who takes no notice of 
her but leaps to his place at the foot of her 
bed. She follows him and throws herself 
down. The old woman watches her eagerly, 

anxiously, not stirring from her place. A 
6 ^ 


130 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

half hour later, hobbling up to stretch her 
cramped muscles, she goes to the window. 

When quite a distance from it, she sees a 
white streak across the exposed glass. 

Near to it with her dimmed eye-sight she 
can make nothing of it, but by a finger touch 
finds it to be a bit of paper. Hobbling back, 
she returns with a lamp. Lifting this above 
her, she, with some difficulty, makes out the 
small, printed letters on the ragged slip. 

“ The night cries sin to be living. 

The river sin to be dead.” 

There is a book, its cover bent, with 
pages crumpled, doubled up on the floor. 
The nurse painfully stooping, picks it up 
and lays it on the table. Her wrinkled lips, 
quivering, show her toothless gums. 


BOOK II. 


XL 

Reeking with heat is the court-room from 
the closely-pressed men and women, who 
stand marked heavily with the burning 
brand of curiosity. It speckles their eyes, it 
curves with the curves of their mouths ; it 
slides into the wrinkles on brows and tem- 
ples and stretches itself boldly forth on their 
eager, bent forward bodies. A great cloud 
lowers misty and humid, threateningly, 
between the ceiling and this restless multi- 
tude of heads. Outdoors — and it is cold, 
bright, refreshing. The sun with great 
beauty shakes her warm and light dress out 

over the ice-bound city, dashes the snow 

[1311 


132 The Sold of Lady Agnes, 

aside at a glance, licks up the v/ater trick- 
ling, sputteringly from bondage, and smiles 
both gloriously and sweetly around. 

In the front part of the court-room are a 
number of plainly but elegantly clad ladies 
and gentlemen. They had entered quietly, 
taking their seats with a glance neither to 
the right nor left but at the prisoner stand- 
ing in his box, and at the judge on his 
bench. Straight back of them is the mixed 
throng, and it is rarely the court-house has 
held such an aristocratic gathering. 

On the edge of a crush of men, shrinking 
in the shadow of the massive figure at her 
side, is a young girl, who has drawn her pic- 
turesque furred hat forward that it may 
shield her face, at which many glances have 
been furtively, admiringly cast — has buried 
her nervous fingers in the bosom of her 
dainty sealskin muff, and poising her slight 
figure on her toes, with an almost painful 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 133 

intensity, a flickering of the bright color in 
her cheeks, and drawing in and out of her 
full lips, listens to all that transpires. As 
calm as she is excited remains her compan- 
ion. His immovable face betokening not 
the veriest sign of the workings of his mind, 
but the restless brilliancy of his great, dark 
eyes, their glitter show he as well bears th e 
brand. 

The court is called to order, the trial 
commences, and the prisoner has plead “ not 
guilty.” The jury, with keenly attentive 
faces, are erect in their places. 

The policeman is the first witness. He 
is an honest appearing middle-aged man and 
his speech bears the ring of truth. Nothing 
sounds to mar the silence of the court-room 
but the scratch, scratch, sputter, dash of 
rasping pens in reporters’ hands. In a loud, 
powerful, bass voice, the witness is saying : 

“ I have been on the police staff eight 


134 Sold of Lady Agnes, 

years, and my name is Sed Ripley. Every 
night I go on my beat at ten o’clock, and I 
have been used to seeing the murdered man. 
Mr. Bromsgrove came staggering home by 
daylight, pretty well corked with liquor, but 
then he was quiet enough, and I never took 
no particular notice of him outside of just 
watching. The house he lived in was at the 
end of my beat, and it was one of those 
where rooms are let out to different parties. 
A week ago, Tuesday night, at about a quarter 
past ten — I know for certain, for I go on 
duty at ten, and it wasn’t long after when I 
saw the dead gentleman with another young 
man, who I described and recognized easy 
enough as the prisoner there, coming slowly 
along. The gentleman was tight as usual, 
and his friend there was having a hard sort 
of a time to get him on. I went up to them 
and said I would give a hand, for the fellow 
looked broken up, but he didn’t answer over 


135 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

politely, and told me to keep off, for it 
stirred up his friend, which was true enough ; 
he didn’t like the looks of my buttons. I 
moved back then, but watched them, for 
there was a look in the eyes of that gentle- 
man I didn’t like, and his face was white and 
livid, as if you had drawn your nails through 
a bit of half frozen snow. I saw them go in 
the house together, the gentleman taking the 
key from the other’s pocket ; then I moved 
on, went back on my beat and didn’t think 
anything of it, when not later than a half 
hour after that I saw a man run out of a 
house ahead and make off. I started to 
catch him, but by the time I got to the 
house, there wasn’t a creature in sight, and it 
was too dark to see more than a block 
ahead. I rapped for help ; then I saw the 
house door before me was open. I went up 
the stoop and in the hall, where I found 
another door half open. After knocking and 


136 The Soul of Lady A^nes, 

hearing nothing, I shoved it back, and there 
was the gentleman in the middle of the room 
in a pool of blood, half undressed ; his body 
was still warm, but he was stone dead. I 
thought then of finding out the time, and saw 
it was just eleven by a big clock on the 
mantel. Two other policemen came in now 
and one of us went off for the Coroner.” 

Lawyer Toone rising here, begins a short 
cross-examination. Exultingly, carelessly 
waves a fresh geranium leaf from his coat’s 
lapel, as he places his eyes directly on the 
man. 

Had he ever seen the prisoner before 
that night ?” 

'' No, he did’nt think he had.” 

Could he swear that the man he saw 
run away in the darkness was the pris- 
oner ?” 

No, he couldn’t answer to that.” 

Didn’t he think for a moment that it 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 137 

might have been some one else ? While he 
was away from the house, the prisoner may 
have left it and some thief entered ; then, 
finding Mr. Bromsgrove ready to grapple 
with him, have killed him. Hadn’t he 
thought of that?” 

For the first time, the policeman’s face 
grows white, and his words indistinct. 

“You think not; are you positive? 
Remember, you say it must have been half- 
an-hour after you saw them enter the house. 
A great deal could occur in that time, you 
know, and you not be the wiser.” 

“Well, it did come into my mind when 
the Coroner came, and we saw there had 
been a robbery, for the safe was torn open 
and bank-books flung about, and there were 
marks on the dead man’s shirt where the 
studs had been jerked out.” 

Lawyer Toll ins Toone resumes his seat 
quietly. There is quick murmuring through- 


138 The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

out the court. His questions have produced 
the desired sensation. 

The counsel for the prosecution, a digni- 
fied, grave gentleman with a sad counte- 
nance, now rises. He speaks quickly and 
to the point. 

“ The court will please to hold in mind 
what the policeman has said, remembering 
he has been on the police staff eight years, 
and that his character is of the best. Will 
also be so good as to keep in mind the fact 
that it was no secret concerning Mr. Right- 
heart’s refusal to sanction any engagement 
between Mr. Bromsgrove and his sister, and 
that when said engagement was discovered, 
he became morose. The amount of bills 
taken from the safe we know to be very 
small. All his papers and bank-books were 
left intact. In one word, a clever man 
could use this means — could have taken the 
studs — as a blind ; what could be simpler, 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 139 

more effective ? The blow from which Mr. 
Bromsgrove died, was one on his heart, and 
was given by a powerful fist. The prisoner 
is a man of muscle,'' 

Excitement is waxing hot. 

It is the old nurse, Ursula, who is next 
called. The examination is necessarily 
short. 

“ Did she hear the front door bell ring 
after seven o’clock, Tuesday night ?” 

“ No, she did not, for wasn’t she in her 
own room at the top o’ the house, and 
wasn’t all the other servants in bed at ten, 
and if the bell had been pulled by the hour, 
they wouldn’t heard it.” Grumbling she 
returns to her seat. 

Sidney is the next. 

He but corroborates the old nurse’s 
story, and the lawyer can make nothing of 
him. 

It is an opportune moment for Lawyer 


140 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

Toone, who seizes it at once. He states 
important facts ; he pleads ably ; and in a 
direct, forcible manner, he shows it clearly 
that the court has only the word of a police- 
man ; that nothing of the slightest worth has 
been proven against the prisoner, the stolen 
money and studs were not found, and are 
still missing. He sums it all up in a brief, 
concise sentence : You have had the 

words of the policeman, now you will hear 
those of another most important witness ; 
meanwhile, look at the prisoner, and see if 
that dignified gentleman has the appearance 
of guilt.” The great court-room, dense with 
its mass of human forms, obeys to a man, 
and cries of “No ! no !” arise. 

Rightheart, standing between two officers 
of the law, is inflexible in attitude, in expres- 
sion. From his time of entrance he has 
remained thus immovable. His clothes are 
spotless and have been carefully brushed. 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 141 

A dried rose and rose leaf hang from 
the button-hole in his Prince Albert coat, 
having rested undisturbed since that morn- 
ing on which he was carried to the prison. 
He has thrown his shoulders far back, but 
there is a strange incongruity in the carriage 
of his head ; zl slinks a trifle forward. 

But one moment on the witness stand is 
Dorothy Rightheart. The sight of her dark 
dress, her painful nervousness, trembling 
lips, quells the slightest murmuring ; the 
silence of genuine pity is on all. The judge, 
with evident emotion, questions her. 

“ Does she believe the prisoner, her 
brother, guilty T 

“ She does not.” And there is no mis- 
taking that positive voice. 

Did the prisoner not appear angry 
with her when he discovered the engage- 
ment T 


142 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

Not angry, but exceedingly sad. It 
was then I told him of the agreement.” 

'' Was your brother satisfied ? Did he 
say anything that would have led you to 
think the agreement would be broken T 

“ He did not, and it is absurd to even 
imagine such a thing as his killing Mr. 
Bromsgrove. It was only necessary for him 
to tell me of the condition in which he was 
discovered, for me to break the engagement 
at once, A promise has always been sacred 
between us.” 

But your brother could have pretended 
to discovering Mr. Bromsgrove intoxicated. 
However, you would have demanded convinc- 
ing proofs, would you not ?” 

“ His word is the only proof I should 
ever require.” 

As she steps down, drawing over her 
face her thick veil, the stilled crowd cannot 
contain their inflamed spirits, and a low 


The Soul of Lady Agates, 143 

thundering of exultation rises in the room. 
But again there is a breathless hush as in 
answer to the summons Lady Agnes rising 
takes her place on the witness stand, faces 
that vast gathering unmoved ; not a quiver 
on her lips, impressively beautiful, with only 
that tiny blue line clinging to the white, 
delicate flesh, dying, rising with her breath 
as if her soul in dire pain is being cast to its 
death. And those brown eyes looking on- 
ward, on ahead, as if to shatter what was con- 
cealed from her, or clinging with wild longing 
to the thoughts of the pure past. 

Could she read strange wordings written 
in that misty cloud above those wavering 
heads ; did she see that right and honor were 
slipping from her ? Did she — 

The gray fur binding her throat is 
quivering, but her eyes, her features are not 
flinching, nor her voice as she calls on God 


144 Soul of Lady Agnes. 

Almighty to witness to the truth of all she 
says. 

In the reverent stillness goes this awful 
oath. 

Rightheart, erectly standing in his box, is 
not looking at her, has half turned his back 
upon her and the crowd. While the fright- 
ful gray palor of his face changes to a deeper 
gray — this is all. Tollins Toone has caught 
her eyes. What is it she sees in them ? for 
as a flash light illumes the deepest, blackest 
night, the fearful, loathing darting across her 
face betokens what is dwelling in her soul. 
And Tollins Toone flinches at the sight. 

Her voice rises firm, wonderously sweet, 
as she swears that the prisoner was with her 
on the evening of the murder, was talking 
with her at the time of the crime. A burst- 
ing, joyful cry comes from the people. 

Rightheart, with eyes staring, gazes at 
her, while a shudder, as of death, consumes 


145 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

him, and a horrible choking springs to his 
throat, while with a mighty, desperate force, 
he presses his lips together, until, in drops, 
crouches the hot blood on them. 

Thus it is that Lady Agnes Lilington, on 
this 24th day of March, swears her soul 
away. 

At this instant, when the building had 
resounded with the pleased cry at the knowl- 
edge that the prisoner was saved, the young 
gifl, so breathlessly listening, watching, at 
the far end of the court, had suddenly, fear- 
fully, shrunk as if mortally hurt, while in a 
strange tongue she had cried aloud in bitter- 
est scorn. 

The man standing by her breathes now 
pantingly in her ear, while his thrilling soul- 
ful eyes contract nameless terror. 

The young girl lifted her face full of 
fright to his, all excitement swept from it. 

“ Quick, Juan.” 


146 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

Unobserved in the excitement, they glide 
out across the court-yard to an elegant equi- 
page waiting at the curbstones. 

The gamins surrounding it fall back, the 
groom dismounting ; the Portuguese takes 
his place. 

Drive quickly,” is the order given. 

The horses kick aside the stones haught- 
ily, and dash on. The groom, crossing his 
arms, stands rigidly, speechless, the center of 
the group of gaping boys. 

Scita, for it is she, lies back among the 
cushions of the carriage, with still that look 
of horror on her childish face, giving to her 
baby features a painful, comic look. 

'' She lied ! I felt it, felt it ! It was 
written all over her, and no one else saw it, 
only me. If they had understood. I 
shouted it loudly, ' She lies ! can't you see 
she lies.' I didn't know, I couldn't help 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 147 

it. It was so exciting^ Moaning softly to 
herself is Scita. 

Back to the court-house and there is an 
ending of the noise and clatter. The jury 
are expected. Lawyer Toone is chatting 
with the Judge, whose face is still flushed 
from the earnest address he has made to the 
jury. 

The counsel for the prosecution, before 
the jury retired, asked permission to question 
the prisoner — a request which was immedi- 
ately granted. There were sounds of impa- 
tience, of shuffling of tired feet at this, 
stopping abruptly as the lawyers question 
came forth strong and startling. 

Did you strike Mr. Bromsgrove on the 
heart ?” 

“ I did not.’' The reply was firmly given. 

Cheer followed cheer, and without 
another word, the counsel for the prosecu- 


148 The Soul of Lady A^nes, 

tion seated himself, and the prisoner was 
again in his box. 

The interval of time is very short when 
the jury enter, and the verdict is given ''Not 
guilty.” 

There is a great rush and a grand noise, 
everyone is talking to everyone else. The 
court-room grows rapidly empty. Lady 
Agnes is standing, with Ursula at her side, 
chatting gayly to her friends. She has 
one hand in her muff, the other is patting 
down the thick, warm fur. 

Rightheart, thoroughly self-possessed, 
but still alarmingly white, is by her, replying 
to the eager words of his friends in mono- 
syllabic sentences. By means of a side door, 
they elude the waiting crowd without and 
gain the street. The groom, still standing 
with the gamins surrounding him, steps up 
to his mistress. 

The carriage, which had driven off, is now 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 149 

in waiting. As Lady Agnes places her foot 
on its steps, as she draws her heavy furs 
more closely around her, there is a gaunt, 
dirt, caked hand thrust tremblingly in her 
face, while a woman with sin made old, begs 
shrilly. 

The faded, swimming eyes of the hag meet 
the brown ones turned on her unflinchingly. 
Rightheart makes a movement to thrust her 
aside, at which the beggar turns on him 
with a snarl, but moves not a step. 

There is a cool, gay, tuneless laugh 
which Lady Agnes sends after the retreat- 
ing, muttering form, which holds a gold 
piece in her tightly pressed palms, which 
with all her strength would have turned into 
a wail of agony, had she heard what fell 
from the colorless lips of the poor hag. 

'' She’s as bad as we uns.” 

Rightheart is next to her, the groom has 
swung too the door and is on his box. They 
drive rapidly home. 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 


^50 


XII. 

“Some one to see me and at once F 
What ?” 

The butler stutters and shows the red 
linings of his thick, black lips. 

“ The name is too hard for me, miss. 
But the lady has come to stay. She is wait- 
ing in the sitting-room upstairs.’* 

Lady Agnes surprisedly turns to Right- 
heart. 

“ I will be with you directly, do find a 
comfortable corner and rest yourself.” 

“ Don’t hurry,” he says to her wearily. 

He enters the parlor, as she mounts the 
stairs. 

“ I am Scita, Scita Chevannis. Your 
uncle, Mr. Barrymore, is my guardian. He 
sent me to you. I have not been well. 
Buenos Ayres did not agree with me. Ah ! 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 15 1 

but I have startled you. I thought you 
knew I was to come sometime. I reached 
here this morning. The steamer made a 
quick passage. I think you had better be 
seated. You look very faint.” 

Lady Agnes finds herself being drawn 
gently but decidedly into a chair, her hands 
held in a warm embrace. While on the arm 
of the chair perches this beautiful little 
stranger, whose grace of manner and flexile 
form has a peculiar charm for her, whose 
unexpected presence at this peculiar time 
shocks her trembling nerves. 

'' You have quite taken my breath away,” 
at last she manages to say with a slow smile. 
‘'You must have thought it great rudeness 
on my part not to have been at the steamer s 
dock to meet you and bring you here. How 
was it my uncle was so remiss as not to have 
written me that you intended sailing.” 

“ Why, but how could he ! I did not 


152 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

decide to leave until the night before the 
steamer started. En effet, but Mr. Barry- 
more by the merest chance discovered some 
old friends of his were coming to New York, 
and insisted that I should sail with them.” 

Now you are safely with me, we will say 
no more about it,” says Lady Agnes, smiling 
again. But how have you passed your 
mornings ? very tiresomely, I fear. A stran- 
ger in a strange house.” 

She is conscious of a firmer hold on her 
hands as the answer comes. And suddenly 
chilled by it, has shaken off the warm, soft 
clinging fingers. But Scita, above repulse of 
this kind, very cleverly has caught them 
again. 

‘'You are provoked with me ! Ecoutez 
silvous plait. When I came here and inquired 
for you, the man told me you were away 
from home. I said I had come to visit, for 
him to call one of the maids to show me to a 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 153 

room. Naturally, I asked if she knew where 
her mistress was. She said at once you 
were at court. I could not understand what 
she meant and continued to question. So 
soon as I comprehended I desired to see the 
trial. I hurriedly sent word down to Juan 
that he was to go out with me. There was no 
difficulty, your carriage was ordered, and we 
quickly started. It was very curious. I had 
never been in a court-house before. Cist 
trls drdky Juan and I thought.” 

'' Juan, of whom, pray, are you speaking ?” 
The question is dry, satirical. 

“ Commenty and have I not told you of 
Juan ?” 

Involuntarily she releases Lady Agnes’ 
hands to give the call she has grown accus- 
tomed to in Brazil. ‘‘ Pardon,” she laughs. 

I have been so used to doing it, but will 
you not ring for Juan, please ?” 

'' Oh, he is a servant,” says Lady Agnes, 


154 Soul of Lady Agnes, 

glad to rise and be free from the girls cares- 
ses. 

“Yes, he is Mr. Barrymore’s trusted 
valet. He sent him on with me, because he 
said he could take better care of me than a 
woman ; in fact, he refused to let me come 
unless with Juan. I think I have not told 
you that Mr. Barrymore is to be in New 
York so soon as he can travel.” 

“ My uncle is, to say the least, a peculiar 
man.” 

Scita quickly notes the sarcasm in the 
words. 

“ Is he ? then your aunt is more than 
peculiar,” she replies, demurely enough. 

Lady Agnes turns on her sharply. But 
the innocent, appealing face, with its shad- 
owed eyes and delicate look, that something 
in the sympathetic poise of the body and 
head, impress her. She feels as if she must 
stop in her walk, take the girl to her heart 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 155 

and let her kiss her ; but no sooner was the 
impulse felt than it had gone, and Lady Agnes 
but hastening her walk to and fro in the 
room. 

Is Scita conscious of her power, of the 
magnetism she possesses, of its effect on 
Lady Agnes. A man is standing in the 
doorway. 

“Lady Agnes, this is Juan, he under- 
stands and speaks English very well.” 

The Portuguese is all deference. Lady 
Agnes greets him kindly. 

“ My uncle is recovering but slowly I 
hear ?” 

“ It is more certain, Senhorita.” 

“ How is it you know English so well ?” 

“ I was taught it when a boy. My first 
master was an Englishman, Senhorita.” 

She resumes her walk. 

“ Mademoiselle Scita tells me you were 


156 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

at the trial this morning. Did you under- 
stand it T 

Sim, Senhorita.” 

At the side of Lady Agnes is Scita, her 
bosom heaving, her hands gesticulating, her 
voice sweet, low, enticing, her light steps 
keeping pace with the other’s long one. 

“Juan is very knowing. He is an 
alchemist.” The last word is given with a 
startling impressiveness. “ Things come to 
him unconsciously on his part. Enfin, he is 
lucky. Je me 7 i vats vous dire ! Let him 
look out for the murderer and he will be first 
to know of him, certain. Juan is very care- 
ful. He never bothers himself about other 
people’s affairs, unless they desire it.” 

Seemingly void of expression is the Por- 
tuguese face ; Lady Agnes is regarding him 
intently. 

“ Everything is being done that is pos- 
sible for the capture of this villain. 


157 


The Sold of Lady Agnes. 

Mademoiselle certainly has great regard for 
your skill to imagine you, a stranger, suc- 
cessful in a case like this, but if things come 
to you without seeking, why I do not see 
the necessity of my consent in the matter.” 

If the Senhorita would permit, I will 
keep my eyes, ears, open ; otherwise, they 
are locked to all sights and sounds. I have 
no speech but my masters, no thoughts but 
his. If it is the wish of the Senhorita that I 
see, I use my eyes ; if not, I am blind. 
What are the Senhorita’s wishes T 

The vaguest smile is around Lady 
Agnes’ lips. 

Why, find the murderer, of course ; but 
it is nonsense.” She motions him to leave 
them. 

Scita lays her hand on Lady Agnes’ 
shoulder. Don’t walk any more, you are 
faint, we will avoid foolish questions. Is it 
not time for ddjeiin^ 


158 The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

“ I am, indeed, a gracious hostess. Come 
with me at once.” 

As they enter the parlor, Scita starts 
back. A young man is lifting his head 
heavily from a recumbent posture, and the 
steelly glitter of his eyes, the blank soulless 
appearance of his countenance, makes her 
sensitive heart recoil. She finds herself, as 
Lady Agnes introduces them, extending a 
hand to his, which is rigid and icy. 

'' Carl, this is Mademoiselle Chevannis. 
You have often heard me speak of Scita.” 

This is an unexpected pleasure, I am 
sure ; is it not Agnes ?” 

It is, indeed ; but come, we must lunch.” 

In the early evening, Rightheart found it 
necessary to hasten to his home, where he 
could have the rest his exhausted energies 
were now demanding. No sooner had he 
left them, than Lady Agnes asked Scita to 
come with her to her room. 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 159 

Now, the lateness of the hour is such 
that Ursula, wakening and hearing a voice 
from below, thinks her mistress calling, and 
clad only in her gabardine, gets to the door, 
anon to seek her room again. 

Scita, her' arms slipped free from the silk 
robe which in folds falls around her waist 
and body, half reclines on the beaver skin 
by the ill-burning fire. Lady Agnes is in a 
low, lounging chair, regarding admiringly, 
half unconsciously, the bared neck and arms, 
gleaming round and white, and in the fire- 
light with a flickering of gold dust upon 
them. 

Scita, now resting her head on her left 
hand, shifts her body into a position of 
greater ease, and so that the face above her 
is well in view. 

There is a curious, half-painful expres- 
sion around her small mouth, while her eyes 


i6o The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

are only larger, more brilliant, and innocent- 
looking than ever. 

Do you know they think I will die ?” 

Her eyes are contracted, and the light is 
a vivid green. 

“ What on earth do you mean ?" 

'‘They think so in Brazil.” 

“Who ?” 

“ Why, your aunt and the doctors.” 

“ Nonsense.” Lady Agnes bends over 
her, touches her arm. “It is solid,” she 
says, well satisfied. 

“ That is nothing, the trouble is not 
there.” She has with a half-furious, half 
sad movement, drawn herself across the 
length of the rug, and is now pressed closely 
to Lady Agnes, who takes the girl’s hand in 
her cold grasp. Perfect silence is in the 
room. There comes to Scita’s face a 
thoughtful, cunning look. Lady Agnes is 
bodily, mentally exhausted. She appears to 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, i6r 

have grown ten years older. Under her 
eyes are heavy black circles, and the lids are 
also dark. So tired is she, that the very 
thought of moving is fraught with repulsion. 
Wearily she remains where she is. 

“ The trouble is with my heart !” 

Lady Agnes starts violently. She had 
forgotten the girl. 

But what can ail your heart ?” And 
the voice is very kind that asks the question, 
though Lady Agnes cannot repress her 
smile. 

No answer, only a slow, sad move of the 
head, when with a change of startling, furi- 
ous vehemence, Scita has risen to her knees 
and opened her blue eyes widely on Lady 
Agnes. 

'' You have heard the story, but listen : 
Ion is a king, Argos his country ; the oracle 
says the King must die to save his country, 
and Ion dies.” 


i 62 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

Lady Agnes looks wonderingly cold. 

Comprendsdu Again there is won- 
derful pathos in the simple question, Com- 
prends-tu?'" No, I cannot see what connec- 
tion it—” 

But Scita is saying something which 
closes the pale lips in a dry, fierce way, and 
has driven a terrified, sickening, despairing 
light to her drawn face remorselessly, with 
all intentness, cunning is the effect noted. 

Lady Agnes, do you believe that every 
one at sometime or other has faced a 
moment when they were driven, compelled 
to decide between truth and falsehood ; do 
you ?” 

Then Scita takes her hand away, lies 
down on the fur again and turns her face to 
the firelight, from which all cunning has 
vanished and nothing but white pity re- 
mains, for she is satisfied now that Lady 
Agnes did indeed forswear herself at the 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 163 

trial. It was not imagination on her part. 
She has satisfied herself to that. Turning, 
she finds that Lady Agnes has left her seat 
and is walking up and down. 

“ Do you see how late it is, Scita. I shall 
have to ask you not to fall asleep there, but 
go to bed. We would find you frozen in 
the morning.” 

Absently, wearily she speaks. A half 
hour later Lady Agnes, passing the door 
connecting her room with Scitas, sees a 
kneeling form, and hears the low, even mut- 
tering of the long prayer, with an occasional 
click of the beads as they drop together 
again. There is a contraction of her eyes, 
as if a tightening of her heart strings, as she 
moving shuts out the sight. Pauvre cli^re 
dmel' she thought she heard the little 
French girl say. '' Did she ! Ah yes, it is 
good so, pauvre chlre dmel' Bitterness drives 
the words mockingly to her lips. 


164 The Soul of Lady Agnes. 


XIII. 

It is late of an afternoon in the latter 
part of March ; Colonel James Livingston 
Killem is in his study. A friend has just 
entered, and the Colonel with hearty enthu- 
siasm has made him welcome. They have 
been engaged in conversation for nearly an 
hour. Empty wine glasses deck the Colo- 
nels desk, cigar stumps adorn its edges. 
Wit has been spontaneous and free, there is 
a careless boyishness in the parrying of the 
friends. For the first time in several years 
they are together. 

Leighton Barrymore has been in New 
York City exactly forty-eight hours. 

Come, Colonel, I want you to tell me 
about this affair of my niece. 

''You know as much concerning it, my 
dear sir, as myself.” 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 165 

'‘Another cigar, Leighton ?” 

"Thanks, no. How is that possible, 
were you not at the trial T 

The Colonel shakes his head. " I was 
laid up with one of my attacks.” 

Barrymore’s eyes twinkle. 

" At your old tricks, eh ! Are you like 
Gun try, do you carry round a shaven head 
after one of those, ahem — attacks ?” 

Drawing himself up the Colonel presses 
down the ruffles at his wrists, complacently. 

"/i- sum qui semper fuiP 

Barrymore amusedly picks up the cigar 
and holds a lighted match to it. 

" What is there about the trial you desire 
to know ?” 

The Colonel is thoughtful. 

"Who’s this Tollins Toone, who had the 
case in hand ? I confess to never having 
heard his name before.” 


1 66 The Soul of Lady Agnes. 

Not at all strange, that. He is a young 
man who has risen rapidly, and is pro- 
nounced a most skillful lawyer.” 

“ How was it Agnes had him. There 
are many lawyers more eminent ? Did you 
advise her ?” 

Have I not informed you I was dis- 
abled by illness at that critical time.” 

“ Peste /” comes irritably from between 
the cigar and Barrymore’s lips. Unruffled 
the Colonel chooses to continue with due 
pompousness. 

'' Mr. Toone was known by Agnes and 
Rightheart personally. But what interest 
can you have in the man ; the case was suc- 
cessfully worked ?” 

“ I don’t like his looks. He was at the 
house last night, and by Jove, he struck me 
disagreeably, and I have a peculiar idea that 
Agnes thoroughly dislikes him, not from 
anything she has said, but by her constrained 


167 


The Sold of Lady Agnes, 

manner, when he is by. Entre-nousy Colo- 
nel, my niece is changed, and I am compelled 
to say not for the better. This unhappy 
affair has harmed both Agnes and Right- 
heart, while that charming young lady. Miss 
Dorothy, is to withdraw from the world. 
Arguments are useless. I hear she leaves 
for Paris, to enter a convent, directly after 
Agnes’s marriage. The steamer sails early 
on the following morning.” 

“To return to the lawyer, I confess your 
impression of him surprises me, because I 
have always had the same,'' 

Barrymore rises excitedly. “ Do you 
know,” continues the Colonel, meditatively, 
“ I can compare him to no one better than 
to the royal Philip II., who had a fashion of 
looking to the ground, as if for speech, 
which was partly ascribed to a haughtiness 
he had endeavored to overcome and partly 


i68 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

to habitual pains in his stomach, occasioned 
by his inordinate fondness for cooking.'' 

“ Pompous pomposity !" ejaculates Barry- 
more angrily. ‘‘ I’ll tell you what I thought 
of the fellow," he says nervously. I 
thought him deep, insincere. He talked 
much, but his words seemed to come no 
further than from his lips. He appeared to 
me suspicious, and yet his appearance is that 
of a gentleman. I am puzzled." 

“You think, then, he has the power of 
covering his meanness with a kindly manner, 
to give to the world the appearance of a god- 
ly man. In one word, to use a similitude, 
he knows the art of veneering." 

Barrymore stares. “ Humph !" Calmly, 
undisturbed, the Colonel, changing his tone, 
growing more emphatic, continues : 

“ The lawyer’s manner has, to both of us, 
left suggestions. Like the barometer they 
did not directly foretell the weather, but 


169 


The So2il of Lady Agnes. 

simply showed the varying weight of the air 
from which we must draw our conclusions.” 

'' I leave you to yours then, Colonel. 
Come round to-morrow ; these wedding fix- 
ings make a man nervous. The house is 
astir with them, but we will manage to 
secure a quiet corner.” 

I am at the ladies’ service, Leighton, 
my regards to them, good-afternoon. But — 
wait one moment, I believe I will walk 
around with you.” 

Barrymore stands on the high brown- 
stone stoop, knocking lightly his strong 
boots with his handsome umbrella ; his sal- 
low complexion, as sallow as ever, but the 
look of utter weariness his face bore while 
he was in Paris, is waxed less. Barrymore’s 
health is better. 

The Colonel joining him now, they walk 
off arm in arm. 


1 70 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

Juan, in elegant livery, stands opposite 
Sidney, at either side of the festooned door- 
way ; two valets are close by. 

There is a thrilling silence in the vast 
parlor. The wedding march sinks fainter 
and fainter. The breaths of the countless 
banks of choice flowers mingling, is sickening- 
ly, lullingly sweet. There are a group of fair 
women, a cluster of proud, handsome appear- 
ing men, with the flush of intense interest 
on brow and cheeks. There is an archway 
of spotless flowers, a step banked with them ; 
a covering of a flaming, moveless bell, with 
the numbers standing out, pure and fresh, of 
18—. 

Dropping upon the low melody comes 
the faint tinkle of a gold bell as a maiden 
fair, raising her bracelet arm to smooth 
down the lace edging of her low cut gown, 
sets the trinket stirring. A gentleman 
bends low over his companion and breathes 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 171 

to her words that bring the color brilliantly 
to her face, while she trembling smiles. The 
distant hidden voice grows passionately 
sweet, and drops to fitful murmurings. A 
clear, sonorous voice, touches, fills the room. 
The smilax looking up from off the canopy 
sways with the clergyman’s breath. 

“ Let us pray,” he says. 

There is a rustling faint of the bridal 
gown as bride and groom kneel — and the 
benediction on the bowed heads falls and 
rises, an interval of heart touching stillness, 
a slow changing of the melody, and out it 
swells, loud, grand, magnificent. 

Hasten and congratulate the cold, pale 
bride. She is awaiting you, the young hus- 
band at her side, is gravely greeting you. 
Their friends have surrounded them. Juan 
and Sidney have given the motion to set the 
waiters hurrying. The band is clashing, and 
there is much noise, much confusion. 


172 The Soul of Lady A^nes, 

An hour, two hours, three are gone. 
The lights in the parlor are out. The flow- 
ers die slowly, bravely ; some are dead, tram- 
pled under foot on the carpet. In the recess 
of the canopy is black stillness, with a heavy, 
sombre object looming above. The servants 
are in their rooms. Upstairs, standing in 
the half-darkened hallway, his hand on the 
door’s handle, is Rightheart. The door is 
swung back and he is in Lady Agnes’ room. 
The tiny lamps are all lighted, and some 
swaying back and forth, revelling in their 
own brilliancy. Rightheart, motionless, 
looks about him and starts. Some one clad 
in heavy black approaches him ; some one 
very beautiful is before him. Does he know 
her ? God ! what does it mean ? 

“ Agnes !” 

“ Did you murder Medoc Bromsgrove ?” 

Oh, what a laugh. 

Did you murder Medoc Bromsgrove ?” 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 1 73 

‘^Yes." 

He has laid his hand upon her, she has 
tottered to the floor to spring up and shake 
him from her, to draw closer to the door. 

He tries to turn a lamp suspended near 
him on brighter ; it fails to grow lighter and 
he sends it furiously crashing, dashing down 
the glass in broken bits upon the floor. 

It sobers him. He sees, too, that Lady 
Acfnes has her bonnet, her lonpf cloak on. 
He draws one hand across his eyes, holds the 
other out to her. She, leaning on the door, 
with dilating, horrifying sight, sees the hand 
so strong and trembling, and hers goes out, 
goes out to come back with an awful shout. 

“A murderer’s, a murderer’s.” 

The great tear-drops which had welled 
through his fingers he shakes madly off. 

''No pity, Agnes?” he says coldly, 
deadly. He watches her cower back. 

"You are not to leave this room, remem- 


I 74 Soul of Lady Agnes, 

her. I have some questions you must 
answer.’’ 

Hotly, gasping, dryly, she breaks her 
words on his. 

Ursula handed me a letter which came 
to-night. You can read it; it says you are 
the murderer. I am told to ask you. The 
writer did not sign it, but said I know your 
husband to be the murderer.” 

She pants and pants. 

I thought you were innocent. I per- 
jured myself to save you. I have married 
you believing in your innocence, while my 
soul was sick with its lie. And you, you, oh, 
cowardly, cowardly.” She catches her breath 
with a moaning gasp, and draws it in with a 
low, sucking sigh. You, with a soul as 
black as Hell, took me to wife. Heaven, 
heaven keep me, O God !” 

Choke your breath or you will dare me 
beyond endurance. I stand here and swear 


175 


The Soul of Lady Agn.es, 

before God that I was going to answer 
guilty to the crime, although I plead at first 
' not guilty.' I clung to the last in hopes 
of — God knows what. You drove me sense- 
less when I heard your oath. If I then plead 
'guilty,' you would be branded a liar. I 
loved you. I have been weak. My sin lies 
in marrying you, but my love has been pas- 
sionately intense. What man living would 
have acted differently ? The hell the Bible 
speaks of is conscience, and I have been in 
torment. Yes, if you wish, now you can go." 

His voice broke, speech was gone. He 
has opened his arms to her. His eyes are 
drenched with the might of love's longing. 
She pushes herself half from the door, she 
sees him as if he were a phantom then 
before her : "For better, for worse, for — " 

He takes one step forward. She 
flinches, she clings again to the door. She 
has torn it open. 


1 76 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

“ I cannot, I cannot, be brave. Don't 
look at me so. Dorothy sails in the morn- 
ing i I go ^or. I will come back. I 
wiir 

Never ! if you leave me now, you remain 
forever.” 

He touches, is it accidently ? the door 
with his foot. It swings to with a catch of 
the lock. He grasps a chair back and reels 
by it, then bows over it. 

“ She, his beautiful bride. Ah, this the 
bridal night,” prostrate he lies. 

Outside the door, where Lady Agnes has 
fallen, is Ursula, her lips twitching, her knees 
knocking from the speed she has made. She 
stoops down. 

My lady, the carriage is here ; do you 
want it ?” 

“ There ! help me.” Disjointly, pitifully, 
as if to herself, she is moaning. I called 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 177 

him and he did not answer. Once, twice, 
then I fainted.” 

At the head of the stairs she turns and 
looks for the last time at the closed door, 
the old nurse swaying under her weight, 
then slowly descends, and is out in the cold 
air and entering the carriage. Ursula, catch- 
ing her ungloved hands, wets them with her 
tears and kisses. 

“Yes, yes, my Lady Agnes, I’ll take good 
care o’ the house. God be with you ! yes ! 
my Lady.” 

The coachman leans from his box for the 
order, lets fly his whip and they are away in 
the night, before the old nurse has ceased 
her crying. 

Presently, a man wrapped warmly in a 
long coat, closely buttoned, turns away from 
the house, and walks quickly on in the 
sweeping wind and darkness. It is Right- 
heart. 


178 The Soul of Lady Aggies, 

The steamer sailed as authorized the 
following morning. On the passenger list 
are two names, Miss Dorothy Right heart 
and Mrs. Carl Rightheart. The world is 
scandalized. 

Mr. Barrymore with Scita, still remains 
in his niece’s house. Next month they leave 
for Buenos Ayres. Scita pines for Vasco. 


179 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 


XIV. 

Any one careful to note the weather 
would have observed the cirrus cloud form- 
ing into slender strata, and pronounced a 
.heavy storm during the night; to them the 
sudden downpour which comes now would 
not have been unexpected. It was at 
twelve, when the moon, weary grown, turned 
to bed, and splash into the river fell tiny 
slender threads, which, as they touched the 
water, rebounded in glistening drops. It 
rains and heavily. The dock watchman is 
in his oilskins and walking unobserved along 
the wharfs. The light from his dark lantern 
at a short distance shines like a moving star 
earth-fallen. Putrid odors float in the icy 
wind, blowing straight to the nostrils. 
Masts, phantom-like ships arise and are hid- 


1 8o The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

den in the darkness. A sleepy call from a 
half-drunken sailor, wallowing under the lee 
of some cast-off rigging piled on the dock. 
The shouts of revelers from the tenements 
beyond, then but the hissing of the pelting 
rain and the watchman’s tramp. The wind 
changes and the rain falls piercingly as a 
thousand needles, touching the bared .flesh. 
On, on, the watchman tramps. A great 
howl rushes through the rain. The dock- 
man lays one hand on his pistol pocket while 
the cold and rain gush in his teeth. Another 
horrific shriek — it comes nearer. The burly 
Irishman hugs close to a wall and holds his 
lantern high up none too soon. A man rolls 
heavily at his very feet, groaning laboriously. 
Coolly the Irishman turns him over and 
throws the light of his lantern full on the 
man’s bloody face. 

'' A furriner,” he says gruffly, '' and 
beaten to a jelly at that.” 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, i8i 

The dockman swings his lantern and 
shouts loudly, once, twice. A rap, rap of a 
distant policeman s club on the pavement is 
faintly heard. The watchman waits. 

Leighton Barrymore is busy settling his 
accounts previous to his departure on the 
morrow. He is alone in the sitting-room 
next the parlor. He raises his head, his 
right hand rests moveless on the paper. A 
mighty crash of near thunder has broken 
over the house, closely followed by a keen, 
sharp, quick, blue, white streak of lightning, 
shooting across the carpet ; again fearful 
blasts, short, sharp blasts, as if tremendous 
rocks in falling had collided. 

Barrymore has dropped his pen entirely 
and is leaning back in his chair. The thun- 
der suddenly becomes distant, but the rain 
has increased in violence. 

'' Senhor !” 


i 82 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

Eh ?” Barrymore moves, startled, visi- 
bly. 

Juan’s words are Portuguese. 

There is surprise depicted by his master. 
The reply is direct, commanding. 

Sim, Senhor.” 

The servant is in the hall — is again in the 
doorway. A man is with him, showing with 
what severity the weather has treated him. 
The rain drips from his soaked clothing with 
a splash, and curling round his great boots 
forms instantly to streaming, dirty puddles. 
He is careful not to step beyond the thres- 
hold. 

“ Good evening. You wish to see me, I 
believe ?” 

'‘Yes, sir.” 

The man unbuttoning his great coat 
throws it back. Mr. Barrymore looks at 
Juan. 

“Well !” is what he says. 


The Soul of Lady Agates. 183 

The officer is opening a piece of paper. 

“ There’s a man dying down at the docks, 
got into a row at one of the tenements near 
there and was kicked out. He wanted this 
paper given here. He is a foreigner and he 
was hard to understand. But it was made 
out pretty clearly that he had something 
to tell that might help him. The police 
bureau sends me here ; will you please read 
this, sir ?” 

Mr. Barrymore twists the paper around. 

My servant’s name and the number of 
this house is all I find.” He says it after 
silent contemplation. 

“ Yes, sir ; but will you come, see the 
man ; he will hardly last until morning.” 

Juan utters something quickly in his 
native tongue. 

The officer turns sharply. 

'' That’s how the fellow talked, and he’s 
dark like you.” He faces Mr. Barrymore 


184 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

again. “ I am bid to tell you, sir, that they 
think at the bureau this fellow may know 
something of the murder.” 

“In that case I will go with you at once. 
Come, Juan. There is a stable in the next 
street. We will find a carriage there.” - 

The mulatto is gone to return immedi- 
ately with his masters wraps. They secure 
a carriage easily, and are being rapidly driven 
to the docks. 

In a hut half packed with rubbish of all 
sorts, on a pile of dirty bedding, is the dying 
man. He is quiet, his great, black eyes wide 
and staring. A policeman is guarding the 
doorway, while a reporter and detective are 
seated side by side on a small stack of wood. 
They rise as a carriage is heard approaching. 
The policeman steps out in the rain. 

“ This way if you please. This way, 
gentlemen.” 

It is Mr. Barrymore who has entered and 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 185 

is first by the side of the sick man. He 
starts back when with a loud exclamation he 
clutches the shoulder of Juan, whose eyes 
contract with excitement. He waits thus 
one moment, then coldly, commandingly, 
returns the glance of the cowering black 
eyes, thrilled with intense entreaty. 

The reporter intelligently is busy with 
his pencil. He alone understands. The 
policeman and detective watch the scene. 

“How is this, Pedro?” is what Mr. 
Barrymore has said. 

“ I am dying master T is the weak 
response. 

“ What have you done, Avia 4 e T ’ 

The man^s eyelids quiver. 

“ Look in my pocket, master,” the words 
come thickly. 

Mr. Barrymore leans down hastily, and 
opening the ragged coat, draws from the 
inside pocket a gentleman’s handsome 


1 86 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

pocket-book. Two letters are on Its face; 
he reads them at a glance. His blue eyes 
flash fire. 

You dog,” he hisses. 

The reporter has been watchful, he is 
carefully jotting down : 

“ And on the front of this were two 
initials, M. B.” 

Mr. Barrymore, with a look of exhaustion, 
glances about. Juan Interpreting, spies a 
coil of ropes and loses no time in dragging 
them forth for his master to sit on. It is 
well so. 

'' Agora ! not one lie. You are dying 
and must make haste. Tell me first how 
you came here ?” 

'‘Senhor, I fled. It was I who stabbed 
you in Buenos Ayres.” 

Por que /” It Is Juan who hisses now. 

Mr. Barrymore’s yellow skin both pales 
and flushes. 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 187 

“ Ovelhaco P' 

'' Mademoiselle, she frightened my 
Donah. I wanted revenge. The knife 
slipped ; it struck you instead.” 

A momentary light of fiendish joy, dark- 
ened by a scowl of anger, and his features 
v/ork twitchingly. 

Juan exclaims; the sick man seems hur- 
ried for breath. 

“You came to America then, and the 
Senhor Vasco bemoaned the loss of a good 
servant. Ah, I see ! What next ?” 

“ Master, I was starving. One night I 
saw two gentlemen enter a house. One 
wore diamonds in his shirt. There was food 
in their glitter. I waited round, Senhor. 
It was not long before chance favored me. 
One of the young gentlemen came out on a 
run. The door was left open. I glided up, 
I crept in, and there was his companion 


1 88 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

lying senseless on the floor. I took his 
studs.” 

His drawn face is moveless, expression- 
less ; there is only a trembling of the eye- 
lids. 

He woke up suddenly, and tried to 
fight me, Senhor. I hit him on the heart, 
and saw he died.” 

Mr. Barrymore is compelled to lean far 
forward ; the words come more huskily. 

“ 1 found a key, it belonged to the safe, 
I knew it, for Senhor Vasco has one the 
same and had taught me the secret. There 
was little money, it was in the pocket-book 
you have. Senhor, I passed you on the 
street one day and tracked you home.” 

“ Is this all, Pedro ?” 

The mulatto tries to speak. There is 
blood spurting to his lips. Alarmed, Mr. 
Barrymore and Juan bend over him and 


The Soul of Lady A^nes. 189 

raise his head. It is back on the bedding 
again. 

'' Deus VOS SalveL is what has been said. 

Fiercely still the rain falls, there is, as 
yet, no sign of the heavy storm abating. 
Leighton Barrymore is in his study again, 
and it is morning. He draws strongly of his 
cigar. His worn face peering dimly through 
the gray smoke, like some old wizard s con- 
tracted with perplexity. 

Ah, child,” he is thinking inwardly, 
little did you realize the momentous result 
of that fairy story you told the little Donah. 
There are no trifles. I have always said it. 
You are not going to hear of this, Scita. It 
will do you harm. I will send this cable- 
gram to you Agnes, shortly.” 

He twirls the message he has just written 
about in his long fingers and rises. He 
feels the need of rest. 


190 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

What was it that separated his niece 
from her husband ? Will anything now 
occur when she learns the news ? If so, the 
problem is an easy one ; if not, the mystery 
is as black as ever.” 

He has reached his bedroom and is roll- 
ing himself up in his traveling rug on the 
lounge, exhausted. 

“ Extra ! Extra !” 

There is quite a coining of money by the 
energetic newsboys, early in the streets. 

'‘Yes, sir ! the murderer found, sir ! paper, 
sir ? Paper ? Extra ! Extra !” 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 


191 


XV. 

The convent garden is radiant with all 
the beauty of early spring. The long, slant- 
ing, tremulous rays of the sun are silvering 
and gilding it fondly ; its high stone walls are 
draped with creeping vines, bearing leaves 
and tendrils so young and tender that, as the 
wind moves by, they shiver and curl up, 
sighing ; its garden paths are cleaned daily, 
carefully swept with the limbs of the spread- 
ing trees around them, casting their lank 
shadows across the stones with a lithsome 
grace, and carelessly, as if fond of this 
reflection of themselves, mirrored so plainly. 

Long and wide is the garden, verdant 
with great uninterrupted stretches of bright 
green grass ; sweet is the air hovering over 
it, freighted with the fragrance of blooming 
flowers and blossoms born in the night. 


192 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

Slowly, with a soft measured step, are 
several of the sisters moving under the 
trees. A sunbeam darts over the pure 
white cashmere, caught at the throat and 
waist into forming a gown of one of the 
nuns, and brings out the gold cross chained 
to her girdle and one dangling from her neck 
in its wanton sport. As spirits these holy 
sisters pass and repass each other, commun- 
ing silently, a book of prayer clasped to each 
breast. Unbroken stillness and a creeping, 
growing horror at the sight. 

A sound. Two women are passing out 
of the convent ; are now leaving its gates for 
the street. One is clad, nun-like, in plain, 
sombre black ; the other is dressed with 
quiet elegance and style. She walks 
proudly, but her face is carefully concealed. 
If in keeping with her form, she is beautiful. 

Lady Agnes is neither noticing the sun’s 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 193 

sportiveness, nor heeding the curious looks 
of those they pass. 

They walk slowly, turning out of one 
narrow white street into another, as if well 
acquainted with the way. 

“ Agnes, to-day reminds me of that first 
one we passed in Paris on our return from 
Egypt. Will you ever forget the simoon 
we experienced ? What a blessing it was to 
be in this bright city again, Carl — ” 

But Lady Agnes is showing not the 
veriest sign of interest. 

Is it the heat thrown up from the burn- 
ing asphalt pavement that has moistened 
Dorothy’s brown peut-itre f Is it that 
which makes her sigh ? 

Time passes, and they are before the 
beautiful Sainte Chapelle, in the Rue de la 
Sainte Chapelle, talking with the concierge 
who, after a moment’s hesitation, precedes 
them across the inner stone court to the 


9 


194 of Lady Agnes. 

church door. The fee is liberal and it is 
early in the day ; his temper is unruffled. 
With the keys dangling In his left hand he 
begins explaining. The sound of his soft 
voice grows monotonous, and presently Lady 
Agnes, with a look of ennui, has turned aside, 
and by herself takes note of the gorgeous 
stained-glass windows, the frescoes, the 
arches, seeing them all listlessly. But Dor- 
othy Is with her directly, they are to ascend 
to the upper chapel ; already the voice of 
their guide comes to them faintly, as with 
due impressiveness he calls down from the 
winding staircase he has mounted, Cest 
magnifique r 

Lady Agnes goes with Dorothy without 
a word, but as she steps back for her to lead 
the way up the narrow stairs, her teeth 
clinch suddenly, and a tremor runs through 
her as Dorothy’s black dress brushes by. 
The concierge begins again, and once more 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 195 

Lady Agnes turns away. They are in the 
midst of much beauty. The chapel is one 
mass of rich color and gold in countless 
shapes, over which the midday sun is pour- 
ing. Suddenly the concier^ge stands open 
mouthed in dumb surprise, his only listener 
has left him, and without a word. Dorothy 
has seen Lady Agnes step out on the small 
gallery leading from the chapel and connect- 
ing the two towers of the church. 

With a grunt of disgust, the concierge 
now follows them, and stepping to the railing 
of the gallery, stands a moment as if deep in 
thought, when suddenly, with his hat held 
out in his right hand, he turned, '' Mesdemoi- 
selles Oest la resurrection /” 

They follow his glance at once, and 
while they are looking at the great sculpture 
in bas relief on the face of the church, a 
dove, its white wings like bits of silver cleav- 
ing the air, comes darting through the sun- 


196 The Sold of Lady Agnes, 

light ; once; twice it pirouettes, then to the 
breast of the angel standing at the head of 
the tomb it clings with a flutter, safe and 
fast. Very distinctly can they hear it 
cooing. Beautiful, holy sight ! Is it a . 
vision ? Lady Agnes pushes her veil 
up, her eyes blinded, wearied, the gauze 
meshes having interfered and produced 
so many delicate colors in the sun. Her 
face is illumined. She has touched the 
hand of her companion ; the touch thrills her 
friend ; she has bent down, her face shining 
white ; she tries to speak ; she cannot ; once 
again, the words are faintly heard : 

I am saved, no penance need be mine, 
no atonement made. He died for mei' 

The concierge with a start turned about ; 
he has heard a trembling cry. His arms are 
strong, his heart tender, he has the young 
lady’s head supported, while her friend is 
busy opening a flask. The dove with quiv- 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 197 

ering head and wings has flown — startled. 
Beneath them, dragging their chains along 
the stones of the court, pass a number of 
prisoners from their cells to have air, with 
ankles and wrists fastened in iron ; the 
chains make a horrible, rasping, nerve cut- 
ting sound. Lady Agnes is herself once 
more, but they wait for the prisoners to pass 
before descending and procuring a cab. 


198 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 


XVI. 

Rightheart is at home and in his study, 
a letter clasped in his hands. His black 
hair is streaked, and he has every sign of 
some great sorrow eating his life out. His 
head is held by his hands now, and his eyes 
are hot with unshed tears. A sob, a broken 
moan, — and with a horrible, ghastly brow 
and stiff lips, he springs from his chair as a 
knock falls on the door. He strives one 
moment to gain control, then answers. 

There is a single step in the room, when, 
with the hoarse, thick utterance of a mad- 
man, he has flung himself back and clutched 
his desk. 

“You here, and to-night ! my God !” 

Swaying back and forth, she is before 
him. Lady Agnes, with her soul in her 
eyes, with her hands stretched out — two 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 199 

spots of white — out to him, with her long, 
brown velvet coat slipping from her, he hears 
it fall ; she is in white, and there is gold 
twisted about the flesh around her throat ; 
there are sparkling jewels throwing their 
lights straight at him from the girdle at her 
waist ; he sees, he sees it all, even where the 
dark hair has been swept by agitated fingers 
from her temples, leaving them bared. The 
pain, the anguish, he has shut out the 
sight. He stands there, his eyes closed, her 
voice falling on his ear, worn, thirsting, 
trembling, while each string of that fragile 
harp selecting its appropriate sound repeats 
the sad music to the soul within. 

It is of the dream, of her prescience she 
tells him, of the revelation which came to 
her in the Sainte Chapelle, of her endeav- 
ors to save his sister, of her failure, of 
her entrance in the convent, of receiving a 
cablegram that morning, she returned from 


200 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

the church, of the crushing, dragging fear it 
brought, almost darkening her soul again, 
her repentance, her abnegation, must be now 
abject, abject. It is.” 

The blood is racing to and fro through 
her veins with her gasping breath. 

He is calm, but the timbre of his voice 
makes her recoil. 

“You have forgotten to inquire why I 
said I was the murderer, seeing that I was 
not ?” 

But she says not a word. 

“I will tell you. In a fit of anger I 
struck Medoc Bromsgrove on the heart. 
The blow, it appears, was lacking in strength 
and — saved me. You know the particu- 
lars.” 

“So terrible, so horribly terrible. Oh, 
Carl, ivill you not have pity. Down at your 
feet I will fall. You will not have it. No 
pity, no pardon, no love ! God keep me ! 


201 


The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

What have I not sustained?” Ic is the very 
gas above them, which seems to sob with her, 
and twists and leaps as in bodily pain. 

A mist is before his eyes. How fear- 
fully changed she is, how white ! As she 
failed me then, so she will fail me now.” He 
says it low and to himself. 

But Lady Agnes, a glorious radiance 
spreading over her, has sprung to his side, 
has pressed her heart to his, he feels his pas- 
sion rising, he is losing self-control. 

“ As you love me, take me back, as 
Christ has done.” 

He has his arms around her, and has 
called her wife, 

Joy, fury, excitement, surge through him 
as he hears her murmurings. 

'' Carl, listen ! every kiss you have pressed 
upon my lips are mine forever ; take them 
back, take them, it will give me others !” 

9 * 


202 The Sold of Lady Agnes. 

He has her close, close, and heaven is 

below, around, above them. 

***** 

Tollins Toone pursues his profession un- 
molested. He is considered an honorable 
man. On high his sin is known, accounted 
against him ; justice is there. The most 
elegant, most sumptuous little dinner of the 
year he gave the evening following that on 
which he heard of Lady Agnes’s return to 
her husband, and of their sailing for Brazil. 
Aye, that was a memorable night. 

Colonel James Livingston Killem has 
had a very long letter from his friend Barry- 
more, and his thoughts are with him as he 
sits smoking alone this moonlight night, the 
windows open to the outer air. 

Scita has married and is the Sen- 
hora Vasco. Senhor Vasco’s frail, pretty 
wife. 


The Soul of Lady Agnes. 203 

Beside the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Right- 
heart for the grande cirdmonie was that of 
Madame and Monsieur de Brouville. 

AmMie Chevannis has again become a 
woman and a wife. 

De Brouville kept his pledge. 

The little Donah is a special pet of Juan’s, 
and the young Senhora’s waiting-maid. 

Mrs. Barrymore still enjoys her hammock 
and her Paraguay tea ; still continues in her 
old way. 

“It’s just you say, Leighton Barrymore, 
it’s not as I car eL 

And Barrymore notices it a little less 

each time than before. 

***** 

Rightheart, with his wife, is still on the 
continent, for the present in the south of 
France. 

Lady Agnes attracts attention every- 
where, by the calm, grave sweetness of her 




204 The Soul of Lady Agnes, 

beauty, and her husband, by his prematurely 
aged face. 

'' Nostri melior pars animus est. The 
better part of us is the soul.” 


THE END. 


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